The Enchanted Slope
by ThePlotMurderers
Summary: The Baudes and the Quags journey into the mountains in order to reunite their families once and for all. And, of course, along the way we meet a strange new character... Sixth Book in a Series of Queer Events
1. Chapter 1

The Enchanted Slope

Disclaimer: Nothing is ours, for the eleventy-umpty time!

A/N: And here we are! The sixth book of A Series of Queer Events! As you might know from reading the note at the end of Book 5, this story will be trying its damnedest to parody Disney movies. There will be frozen landscapes, stranded maidens, and a few new characters, as well as reprises of some characters that didn't appear last story!

A warning: this chapter is a little slow, and takes some pains to describe the status of various new characters, as well as some old friends. I promise, it gets better as it goes along.

{and thanks to our two new reviewers, Emily Ebriection—I really hope I spelled that right!—and Clockwerk Hydra. It's people like you that motivate all writers to do what they do and do it well:)}

Chapter 1, There Goes the Chapter With It's Words Like Always—

Lucille Tench opened her eyes to the usual sounds of pans clanging and Mother Blackwoodshire caterwauling away from the bottom of the stairs, "Lucy! Get up and tend to the stock!"

Lucy shook herself to assemble her thoughts and slid out of her brass bed. Going to the closet, Lucy began her system of attiring herself. One tartan frock, a pair of stockings for the legs, and a work apron of starch fabric were flung off the racks and draped across Lucy in one minute and forty-five seconds precisely. Next, boots of cracked leather were slipped onto her feet, and Lucy tramped and champed her way out into the narrow stairwell that led down the tower of the Blackwoodshire estate, to the terrace on the third floor.

Mother Blackwoodshire was waiting, still wearing her paisley dressing gown, and with her cropped auburn hair in a rat's nest, "You're twenty seconds overdue, Lucy." she said tersely, pursing her lips together.

"I'm sorry, Mother!" said Lucy apologetic, "I misplaced my right bootlace and had to fetch another one from the drawer."

"Be that as it may," Mother Blackwoodshire continued, "Go into the yard and tend to the horses!"

"Yes, Mother." Lucy sighed.

It had been this way for Lucy every day for all of her sixteen years. Mother Blackwoodshire would holler her out of her slumber, she would head into the back and feed the animals, make breakfast for her parents, and then tend to the full brunt of chores. These chores had a variety: there was the laundry, scrubbing the floors, polishing the furniture, churning butter into being—and then shaping it into bricks, and tending to the house whenever her parents were away at the palace, having been invited to yet another of the Snicket's grand balls or dinners.

Lucy opened the service door and stepped out into the pasture-yard, which was a shock of green and dusky gold, sharply contrasting with the distant skyline of Dirty Bastard on the horizon.

As she rubbed the horses down and dished them their morning supply of oats, Lucy thought, as she did every morning, of what her real parents must have been like. She had never known them—just that they had been good friends with Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire, and entrusted their infant child to them in their will. All the Blackwoodshires would say on being questioned as to how her parents died, was: "Oh, they were swallowed by a falcon on a mountaineering expedition, child. Don't think too much about them."

But Lucy did still think about her parents: George and Laura Tench, explorers and zoologists. There was a whole plaque in their name at the front of the gorilla exhibit in the Dirty Bastard Zoo. Lucy had been there only once, on an outing with the Blackwoodshires, but had not spent much time at the plaque, due to the overwhelming amount of press reporters, who had wanted all the latest news on the Lord and Lady's opinions on politics in the Snicketian court.

The animals now fed, Lucy went over to the gate and opened it, stepping out into Havindash Lane. A cyclist pedaled past her, a satchel of newspapers on his shoulder. This was the village of Cattelbury. The last rural spot before the traveler reached the capital: Dirty Bastard.

Lucy sighed. This was home—she had never known any other place.

BELLE {from Beauty and the Beast}

Lucy: Little town, it's a quiet village.

Every day like the one before.

Little town full of little people, walking up to say—

Village Tinker: HOWDY DOO!

Village Telephone Operator: HOWDY DOO!

Village Wench: HOWDY DOO!

Village Fatass: HOWDY DOO!

Village Idiot: HOWDY DOO!

Lucy: {pointing at Mr. Runciman, the baker} There goes the baker, with his tray like always! The same old bread and rolls to sell.

Every morning just the same since the morning that I came, to this poor and simple town!

Mr. Runciman: {speaking} Good morning, Lucille!

Lucy: Good day, Mr. Runciman!

Mr. Runciman: Where are you headed?

Lucy: I have to go to the scrap yard to find toner. Lord Blackwoodshire's car is running down again.

Mr. Runciman: Oh, that's too bad.

Lucy: {happily} Oh, it is!

{Mr. Runciman stares at Lucy blankly, not quite comprehending}

Well, I'd better be going!

{she moves down the lane and into the village square}

Village Sluts: {singing} Look, there she goes! That girl is strange, no question. Plain and dizzy, can't you tell?

Village Gypsy: Never part of any crowd—

Village Barkeep: Her head's up on some cloud—

Villagers: No denying she's a creepy one, that Lu!

Village Matron: Good day!

Village Tobacco-Man: How is your family?

{to Village Florist}

Good day!

Village Florist: How is your wife?

{the village chatter continues as Lucy pirouettes through the square}

Lucy: There must be more than this simple life!

{Lucy strolls into the scrap-yard, where the salvage man: Mr. Hapenny, is looking out at the sky}

Mr. Hapenny: {speaking} Ah, Lucy!

Lucy: Good morning, Mr. Hapenny. I'm here about toner.

Mr. Hapenny: Oh, is the Lord Blackwoodshire's car running down, again?

Lucy: I'm afraid so.

Mr. Hapenny: Well, I'll see if I can find anything.

{he hops up from his stool}

Wait here, if you please.

{he goes off, Belle spins like a ballerina, humming. outside the scrap-yard, a group of poachers fix their eyes on her}

Village Poachers: {singing} Look, there she is! That girl is so peculiar—

Village Sluts: Such a dreamy, far-off look!

Poachers: Her neck craned in a nook!

Villagers: What a puzzle to the rest of us, this Lu!

{there is a sound of clanging metal, and Mr. Hapenny returns, holding a hunk of old scrap}

Mr. Hapenny: {speaking} This will have to for now, Lucy. I'll try and send for something newer from Dirty Bastard, but at the moment, that should suffice.

Lucy: Oh, thank you, Mr. Hapenny! I'd better get back home, at once! I have my chores to do!

{Mr. Hapenny waves Lucy off, out into the lane}

Dumpy Woman: {singing} It's no wonder that her name is Lucy! Her eyes shine like a thousand lights!

Barber: But beyond that fine facade, I'm afraid she's not the same. No, she's quite different from the rest of us!

Villagers: She's nothing like the rest of us! Yes, quite different from the rest of us, this Lu!

All: 'Cause she really is a funny girl—she really is a funny girl—she really is a weirdo girl, that Lu!

{Lucy hurries off toward the Blackwoodshire estate, the toner under her arm}

THE CURTAIN FALLS

* * *

"Pass over some of that cord. The brambles, there."

"That limb, there. It'll make a ripping helm."

"Pass me one of those thistles. I need the thorns for nails."

It was almost done, now. The boat which the four children had worked for a day and a half—with nothing to eat but stray elder berries and water from the Swervy Stream—was nearly complete.

Violet, her hair tied back in her old, silk ribbon, let out a shaky sigh, before steadying herself on one of the tatted saplings that grew in the waterside thicket, "This is good, guys. We just need an oar, to propel us—"

Violet's brother, Klaus—though he'd rather you called him Chubs—junior to her by just about two years, scrambled over to a pile of discarded scrap wood, and held up a tree branch about as tall as he was, and very sturdy.

"That's perfect, Chubs!" Violet smiled, her first real smile in ages, "Let me just whittle it down, a bit."

From the collection of supplies that they had gathered, Violet withdrew a brass spoke, a piece of the elevator that had lifted the two Baudelaire, and two Quagmire children out of the catacombs of Dr. Montgomery Montgomery, who had incidentally been the Quags' father.

Isadora wound some old twine around the makeshift oar, to make a grip, and held it up straight-wise. It was a little bit taller then the thirteen-year-old girl. Isadora's triplet, Duncan, cracked his knuckles, a grin crossing his face, "Good—very good."

He had resigned to speaking in short bursts recently, due to the shotgun wound to the chest that he had received whilst in the catacombs. The wound had since closed, remarkably fast, actually, but the pain still crept back from time to time.

"Are we setting out?" Duncan continued, eying the rushing stream suspiciously, "The current looks terribly fierce."

Violet shrugged, taking Duncan's hand reassuringly, "We have no choice, Duncan. Sunny's up in those mountains." she nodded up to the looming peaks of the Dandruff Mountains, which rose menacingly several miles beyond the Dark Forest, where the children were currently, "And so is Alice."

Alice was the Quags' mother, whom the kids had recently come in contact with. She had last been reported as swimming _up_ a body of water, with a current that flowed _downward_. Nevertheless, these were the two people that the Baudes and Quags were searching for. Little Sunny, and Alice.

Important people to each set of siblings.

"I think we should be all set." Violet smoothed out her skirt, which had seen much better days.

"What about Mr. Poe?" Isadora suddenly remembered the fat banker who had been traveling with them, "And that round guy: Xibaldo?"

"They've probably moved on, already." Violet didn't sound too happy about leaving them behind herself, "Besides, there's no room for them in the boat."

She was right. The narrow canoe seemed barely capable of holding the four of them.

"Who wants to row?" asked Chubs, looking around at each of them,

"I'll do it." Isadora offered.

"Do you know anything about rowing, love?"

"A little." Isadora shrugged, "I know you have to pull the oar through the water, and try not to flip the boat over."

"It's called 'capsizing', dear." Chubs amended.

"Whatever."

"Well, unless anyone else has experience—" Violet eyed the two boys in their party, "I guess not. Isadora: you do the honors."

The boat was pushed into the water, where the current swept it up, and immediately tried to pull it downstream.

"Row, Isadora!" Duncan urged, swaying as they all scrambled into the boat.

"I'm on it!" the oar was sifted through the white-water. Isadora was a little shaky at first, though she soon found it easy enough to maintain her footing.

What a rush this was!

The wind blew in her face, her hair whipping along behind her like a mantle. The boat soon began moving so effortlessly, that Isadora's rowing became a mere incentive, rather than the cause, of their swift progress.

The forest was a blur of greens and browns, and at each bend in the stream, a new bit of scenery appeared. This was glorious, rowing against the current! A never ending battle against the force of the water, and the single oar clutched in Isadora's hand.

She couldn't resist it; Isadora laughed out loud.

JUST AROUND THE RIVER-BEND {from 'Pocahontas'}

Isadora: What I love most about streams is you can't step in the same stream twice.

Duncan: {speaking} Sister, why are you singing?

Isadora: {singing} The water's always changing, always flowing!

But people, I guess, can't live like that. We all must pay a price.

To be safe we lose our chance of ever knowing—

WHAT'S AROUND THE STREAM-BED!

Chubs: {speaking} Is there such a thing as a 'stream-bed'?

Isadora: {singing, ignoring him} WAITING JUST AROUND THE STREAM-BED!

I look once more, just around the stream-bed!

Beyond the shore—where the gulls fly free!

{the boat coasts around a bend and into a flock of wild eagles that, according to the books, apparently live in and around the mountains}

Violet: {speaking} Shield your eyes! These birds will gauge them out if you get the chance!

{she proceeds to follow her own instructions. the boys do the same, screaming all the while. Isadora, though, continues to stare straight ahead of her, as the forest is left behind, and rocky plateaus take their place. the mountains continue to rise up before them as the eagles clear away}

Isadora: {singing} Don't know what for! What I dream the day might send—

JUST AROUND THE STREAM-BED!

For me—

Coming for me—

{salmon begin to lap up out of the water, leaping in time with the stokes of Isadora's oar}

I feel right there, beyond those rocks.

Or right behind these icy-falls.

Can I ignore that sound of distant drumming?

For a stable, sturdy family, and a stable, sturdy home, where we needn't worry about what is coming!

JUST AROUND THE STREAM BED!

JUST AROUND THE STREAM BED!

{she hits a sharp turn in the stream, and, in negotiating it, flips the boat tail over teakettle into the rapids}

Duncan: {speaking, or spluttering, rather} Isadora! Confound you and your singing!

{at this part of the stream, the water is freezing cold, and tall, gray peaks rise on either bank, snow flecked across their zeniths}

Isadora: Grab onto the boat! We need something to hold onto!

{she pauses}

CHUBS?

{Chubs surfaces, gasping and coughing}

Take my hand!

Chubs: I'll be damn near swept away by this current!

{he takes Isadora's hand}

Where's Violet?

{calling}

Violet! Violet!

Duncan: She's gone. Dear God, she's gone!

THE CURTAIN FALLS

* * *

Kit Snicket looked up from the suitcase at the sound of that dreaded bell in the entrance hall. Hugo would get the door, she needn't worry about that. This was her home, though she hadn't been here in—well, ever.

This chateau atop Mount Fickle-Nickle was where she had been supposed to stay once she had been exiled from the Snicketian court. Instead, Kit had wandered around the land, living a nomadic life. And then she had met Dewey again. Instinctively, Kit placed her hand over her belly. It had expanded quite a lot in the past months. The baby would be coming any day now. Dewey's baby.

Dammit, where _was_ Dewey? Did he not want to know what had become of her? Olaf would be here soon, though. Was that a consoling thought? Meh. At least, he was entertaining.

Olaf was no stranger to traveling with women. Though, for some reason, he had lobbied that Kit come here, until he had disposed of the Baudelaire and Quagmire children. He wanted their fortunes.

Kit remembered that cold, December day about five months ago, when she had met the five kids, and told them about ZYK. She had woven some tom-fool stories about the Quagmire parents being 'missing in action' though she knew very well, that Montgomery Quagmire had been a stark raving despot. He had probably killed himself years ago. But she had had to feed them false information, so that they could get inside the Hotel Plot Twist. She knew that Dewey would find them, and then they could relay—without fully knowing—what he had said.

But ZYK was not her priority anymore. Olaf had let her join his rather sprawling group of associates, to replace Esme Lowersham, now 'Squalor', who had run off with Dewey last month.

Olaf without a woman—it was impossible to imagine.

Olaf was thoroughly incomplete without a female to grope at, while he was concocting his evil plans.

Now, Hugo appeared in the door of Kit's boudoir, "Madame Snicket." he bowed, looking quite ridiculous, seeing as his humpback made him low enough to the ground already, "Count Olaf is here." Kit noted the distaste in his voice. Unlike his fellow freaks: Collete and Kevin, Hugo did not much like the man who had employed him. Rather, Hugo seemed to prefer his old mistress: the Wicked B*tch of the West, who had saved him from his old master before her: Lemony Snicket, Kit's brother, and the ruler of the land.

"Send him in." she told Hugo, her voice sounding far off.

Hugo nodded and beckoned to a figure who stood a little down the musty corridor. A mere ten seconds later, and Olaf strode into the room, looking like he owned the place, "My love."

He planted a firm kiss against Kit's lips, "Hello, Olaf." Kit mustered up a smile, "Did you—do it?" she couldn't bring herself to say 'kill the children'.

"I as good as! Four out of the five brats are currently starving away in an underground cavern, surrounded with water on all sides! As for the baby Baudelaire—"

"Sunny?" Kit said the name with some bitterness. Sunny had once been Olaf's lover.

"Yes, Sunny. We've got her right here!"

Kit tensed. One of Olaf's old flings, in her house. This was unacceptable, though saying no to Olaf would only anger him.

He continued, "As for the Quagmire's—never fear, we still have a chance at their fortune!"

"Do we?"

"According to old Alice Quagmire—who, by the way, is to meet the same fate as the rest of her family—there's a third Quagmire! A boy. And do you know where he's supposed to be hiding?"

"Where?" Kit couldn't fight the nausea in her tone. The Quagmire parents had been alive, after all. Well, they were as good as dead now.

"_In these mountains._" Olaf spelled each word out as though they were made of priceless gemstone, "I don't know where, though." he straightened up and set to pacing about the room, "We'll need to organize a search party—search party—YES!"

"What is it?"

"Those people you know. The ones that orchestrated the Hewitt murders. They're in the Parliament. Spies, or something—"

"The Blackwoodshires?" Kit cocked an eyebrow, "Olaf, you don't want to mess with the Blackwoodshires. They're very cozy with my brother."

"So? They want to sit their fat assess on the throne of Snicket Land! They've been plotting assassinations since they joined the court! With the help of that Anwhistle woman."

Kit shifted a bit in her seat. Josephine Anwhistle was Lemony's press secretary, and his most trusted adviser. It was no secret that she wanted to get him out of the way, and end the Snicket dynasty.

Olaf went on, intent, "Yes! It's perfect! We'll invite the Blackwoodshires over, and have them search with us. They have plenty of money! All we have to do is ask politely, maybe offer them something in return. This plan is foolproof! Quickly, Kit! Pen some invitations! Hell, invite more people. Whoever you think will be trustworthy enough to help us! We've no time to waste!"

Kit nodded and moved over to her writing desk. She'd pen some invitations, all right. She'd invite the Blackwoodshires over to stay, as well.

And she would also invite someone else.

Dewey Plot Twist would regret the day he ever decided to abandon his lover to the winds!

* * *

"This place should do." Dewey set his cloak down on a bench.

"An old cathedral?" Esme looked around at the empty eaves, shuddering at the eeriness of the place

They had found this place in an abandoned village. Of course, plenty of old settlements had been emptied under Jacob Snicket's—the current Snicket's father's—urbanization of the land.

"I think it suits me." Dewey crossed over to the creaky votive stand, "We'll rest here for a few days, and then we'll move out toward—" he paused. For of course, Esme had never told him where she wanted to go and start their 'little family'.

For that was what Esme wanted: family. A stable, quiet life that she could live in peace, without having to worry about being killed or carted away to prison every other day.

But there could be no family. For though Esme had Dewey, she did not have the one person whom she cared for more than anyone else in the whole world.

Carmelita Spats, the girl who had been part of Olaf's group with Esme, when they had been running about the land after the Baudelaire fortune. As Dewey had carried the two of them—Esme and Carmelita, that is—across the Dark Forest, Carmelita had fallen, and it was unsure where she was now. Or if she was even alive for that matter.

"Oh, Dewey—" Esme sighed, "Dewey—"

They needed no words. They just needed each other.

"Esme." Dewey put his arms around her, "Esme, I know things look bad right now, but you have to understand." he looked helpless a that moment. Esme looked at his mask, which covered the right half of his face. Behind the mask, Dewey's face was a mangled mass of scars and deformities, the origins of which Dewey had never told her.

There were still so many secrets between them. They, who had once been arranged to be married—before tragedy had struck. Biggest of all their secrets, must have been the Chamber Pot. The chamber pot was just that: a black reciprocal, commonly used to store human waste. This particular Chamber Pot, however, contained, not feces, but a great secret. A secret that Dewey had never made known to Esme.

She lifted her eyes to look at him, "What? What do I have to understand?"

"That we have to stay in these out of the way places. We need to keep the Chamber Pot safe."

"Dewey, if you want me to help you keep that—thing safe, you are going to have to tell me what's in it."

Dewey sighed, looking at the floor, "I can't tell you that."

Esme didn't ask why not. She just stared at him, a stare that conveyed her disappointment. Why was she treated so offhandedly?

Had no one any respect?

A/N: First chapter! Totaling at around seven pages—not bad, but there could have been more. Hope you liked our two songs—_Belle_ was a pain in the tuckuss to write, due to the difficulties in rhyming and whatnot. Not one of my gifts.

Also, Violet's separated from the others for a reason. Guess what it is.

Update Coming Next Friday!:)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2, A Weekend With the Lions

Disclaimer: I'm in too much of a hurry to come up with a witticism.

A/N: Hello, everyone! Sorry for being off the line all summer, but I'm currently in Italy and the Wi-Fi is very scant. However, it is lovely here, so I shan't complain. Thanks to all those who have been reviewing our stories! Each review is treated like a bit of holy manna, I can tell you.

Well...here we are, at chapter two! Enjoy: you've all earned it!

Lady Blackwoodshire passed her tongue over her teeth in thought. She was enjoying her garden, and the sound of the birdsong in the willow tree that grew by the paddock.

She hummed a bit to herself, before noticing that Lucy was tramping across the lawn to her, bundle of letters in hand.

Ah! So the mail had arrived.

Note: The following is not a Disney song.

A WEEKEND IN THE COUNTRY {from A Little Night Music}

Lucy: {holding out a particular letter from her bundle} Look, mum an invitation.

Here mum, delivered by hand!

And mum, I notice the stationery's engraved and very grand!

Lady Blackwoodshire: Oh, Lucy how too exciting, just when I need it.

Lucy, such elegant writing, so chic you hardly can read it!

What do you think?

Who could it be?

Even the ink—

{Lucy makes to open the envelope}

No! Here, let me.

{Lady Blackwoodshire opens the envelope and begins reading the letter aloud}

Your presence—

Just think of it it, Lucy!

Is kindly—

It's at a chateau!

Requested, et cetera, et cetera—

Madame Kit Snicket—

OH NO!

{Lady Blackwoodshire lowers the letter and grimaces}

A weekend in the mountains.

Lucy: We're invited?

Lady Blackwoodshire: What a horrible plot!

A weekend in the mountains—

Lucy: I'm excited!

Lady Blackwoodshire: {sharply} No, you're not!

Lucy: A weekend in the mountains, just imagine—

Lady Blackwoodshire: It's completely depraved!

Lucy: A weekend in the mountains!

Lady Blackwoodshire: It's insulting!

Lucy: {shrugging} It's engraved!

Lady Blackwoodshire: It's that woman! It's that Snicket!

Lucy: Oh, the exiled?

Lady Blackwoodshire: No, the b*tch!

She may want a return ticket.

But she'd mad if she thinks I would be such a fool as to weekend in the mountains!

Lucy: {half-hearted} How insulting!

Lady Blackwoodshire: {as an afterthought} And I've nothing to wear!

Lady Blackwoodshire and Lucy: A weekend in the mountains—

Lady Blackwoodshire: Here!

{she tosses the invitation back to Lucy}

The last place I'm going is there!

{scene two—yes, this number is rather long—is in the sitting room of the Blackwoodshire estate. Lord Blackwoodshire sits by the hearth, reading, as Lady Blackwoodshire and Lucy storm in}

Lucy: {holding out the letter} Guess what? An invitation!

Lady Blackwoodshire: Guess who? Begins with a 'K'.

Kit Snicket, the exiled relation to the decrepit Lemony

Lucy: Guess when we're asked to go, sir?

See, sir, the date there.

Guess where? A fancy chateau sir!

{she hands the invitation to Lord Blackwoodshire, who reads it throughout the following lines}

Lady Blackwoodshire: {shrilly} Guess too who's lying in wait there?

Setting her traps—

Fixing her face—

Lord Blackwoodshire: {rising} Darling, perhaps a change of pace.

Lady Blackwoodshire: Oh no!

Lord Blackwoodshire: A weekend in the mountains would be charming.

And the air would be fresh.

Lady Blackwoodshire: A weekend with that woman—

Lord Blackwoodshire: {pointing out the fact} In the mountains!

Lady Blackwoodshire: In the flesh!

Lord Blackwoodshire: I've some business with her brother.

Lucy: {imploring} See, it's business!

Lady Blackwoodshire: Oh, no doubt!

But the business with her brother would be hardly the business I'd worry about!

Lord Blackwoodshire and Lucy: Just a weekend in the mountains—

Lord Blackwoodshire: Smelling yarrow!

Lady Blackwoodshire: Being half-buried in snow!

Lord Blackwoodshire and Lucy: A weekend in the mountains—

Lady Blackwoodshire: {giving up} GO!

Lord Blackwoodshire: {shrugging} My darling, we'll simply say no.

Lady Blackwoodshire: {smirking} Oh.

{they walk off together, leaving Lucy looking the picture of disappointment. scene three is in the capital city: Dirty Bastard. in the central park, as a matter of fact. Lady Blackwoodshire has gone for an evening constitutional with her close friend, and recurring character: Madame Josephine Anwhistle}

Lady Blackwoodshire: A weekend!

Madame Anwhistle: {drily} How very amusing.

Lady Blackwoodshire: A weekend!

Madame Anwhistle: But also inept.

Lady Blackwoodshire: A weekend! Of course we're refusing.

Madame Anwhistle: {stopping in the middle of the park} Au contraire, you must accept!

Lady Blackwoodshire: {whining} Oh no!

Madame Anwhistle: A weekend in the mountains—

Lady Blackwoodshire: But its frightful!

Madame Anwhistle: {instructing} No, you don't understand!

A weekend in the mountains is delightful, if it's planned.

Wear your hair down, and a flower—

Don't use make-up, dress in white.

She'll grow more nervous by the hour—

And be spilling her secrets by Saturday night!

Spend a weekend in the mountains—

Lady Blackwoodshire: {smirking} We'll accept it!

Madame Anwhistle: I'd a feeling you would.

Lady Blackwoodshire and Madame Anwhistle: A weekend in the mountains—

Lady Blackwoodshire: YES! It's only polite that we should.

Madame Anwhistle: {hiding a wicked grin} Good.

{they walk on. scene four is in the throne room at the Snicket palace, in the center of the city. Madame Anwhistle enters, conversing with Lemony Snicket: the ruler of the the land}

Lemony: Well?

Madame Anwhistle: I've an intriguing little social item.

Lemony: Well?

Madame Anwhistle: Out of your very own family manse.

Lemony: Well, what?

Madame Anwhistle: Merely a weekend, though I thought it might amuse you to know who's invited to go—this time, with his pants.

Lemony: You don't mean—?

Madame Anwhistle: I'll give you three guesses.

Lemony: She wouldn't—

Madame Anwhistle: Reduce it to two.

Lemony: It can't be—

Madame Anwhistle: It nevertheless is—

Lemony: Plot Twist!

Madame Anwhistle: Ah, score one for you!

Lemony: Aha!

Madame Anwhistle: Ye-ha!

Lemony: Aha!

Madame Anwhistle: Aha?

Lemony: A weekend in the mountains, we should try it—

Madame Anwhistle: How I wish we'd been asked!

Lemony: A weekend in the mountains, peace and quiet—

Madame Anwhistle: {speculating} We'll go masked!

Lemony: {prancing about the stage} And the skating should be pleasant, if the weather's not too rough.

Happy Wednesday, it's your present—

You haven't been getting out nearly enough.

A weekend in the mountains—

Madame Anwhistle: Uninvited? She'll consider it odd.

Lemony: A weekend in the mountains—

Madame Anwhistle: {squeeling in delight} It's perverted!

Lemony: Pack clothes for the snow.

Madame Anwhistle and Lemony: A weekend in the mountains—

Lemony: At exactly two-thirty, we go.

Madame Anwhistle: {with increasing delight} We can't!

Lemony: We shall!

Madame Anwhistle: We shan't!

Lemony: I'm getting the chopper, and we're flying on down.

Madame Anwhistle: {now jumping up and down with glee} Yes, I'm certain you are, but I'm staying in town.

{now the voices of Lemony, Madame Anwhistle, Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire, and Lucy blend together in a quintet}

Go and pack my suits!

We'll go.

I won't!

Oh, good!

My boots!

We will?

Pack everything I own that skates!

We should.

No! Pack everything white.

Mum it's wonderful news!

I'm thinking it out. Are you sure it's all right?

Josephine!

We'd be rude to refuse.

There's no need to shout.

Then we're off!

We are?

Josephine!

We'll take the car!

All right, then—

We'll bring champagne and caviar!

All at once: We're off on our way.

What a beautiful day

For a weekend in the mountains.

How amusing, how delightfully droll.

A weekend in the mountains, while we're losing our control.

A weekend in the mountains, how enchanting,

On the downy slopes.

A weekend in the mountains, with the dancing and the ropes!

With the eagles and the grizzlies, and the gray silk tabouret!

With the servants and the grislies.

We'll be laying our plans while we're playing croquet

For a weekend in the mountains!

So inactive, that one has to lie down.

A weekend in the mountains where—

{their voices die down, and now begins scene five. the chapel where Dewey and Esme are currently staying. Dewey has just taken his own invitation off of the leg of a messanger eagle}

Esme: {speaking} What's it about? How did it find us?

Dewey: {singing} A weekend in the mountains.

The gnats in their hives.

The shallow worldly figures.

The frivolous lives.

The devil's companions know not whom they serve,

It might be instructive to observe.

{now all seven voices sing different snatches at once}

Josephine!

We're off!

A weekend in the mountains—

The gnats in their hives—

I'm thinking it out.

Josephine!

We'll take the car.

There's no need to shout.

We'll bring the champagne.

We're off!

We are?

We're off on our way, what a beautiful day—

While we're playing croquet—

While strolling the slopes—

The weather is spectacular!

We're off on our way—

What a beautiful day for a weekend in the mountains!

How amusing—

How delightfully droll—

A weekend in the mountains—

Where—

WE'RE LOSING ALL CONTROL!

{that entire number was precisely five pages long! ugh}

THE CURTAIN FALLS

"Hack!" Chubs hacked, expelling water from his lungs by coughing, "Cough! Sputter! Retch!"

"Chubs?"

"Isadora!" Chubs noticed his dear woman, and took her in his arms, "Are you alright?"

Isadora nodded, shaking water out of her hair, "Y-y-yeah."

"Darling, you're cold." Chubs felt her hands, noting how ferociously she was shivering, "Come, take my coat." he pulled off his old blazer—a garment that he had been wearing since the fire at the Hotel Plot Twist, that past January—and wrapped it around Isadora's shoulders.

"Thanks." she smiled, engulfing Chubs in a hug.

"What ho!" came a wild voice.

"Duncan!"

Chubs and Isadora raced over to the other member of their party, "Old boy!" Chubs embraced Duncan.

"Dear sister!" he clapped Isadora on the back, "Where's Violet?"

"You mean—she's not with you?" Chubs paled.

"No." Duncan buried his face in his hands, "I last saw her being carried off upstream when our boat turned."

He cast a reproachful glare at his sister, but did not actually say anything. What he did say, at length, was this: "We'd better head up the peak. Kit Snicket's chateau is supposedly on top of Mount Fickle-Nickle." he pointed to the tall peak that rose above the others. It was still a long way off. We'll find Sunny there. And maybe we'll stumble across Mum on the way. And Violet."

The way he mentioned the last two people, indicated that Duncan himself didn't believe that they would ever find them—dead or alive—out in these frozen wastes.

As it happened, his companions agreed with him.

They trooped across the rocky bed which, even in this month of April, was caked in hoarfrost. The three were perfectly silent as they walked along, not even humming or stopping for breath. And, at last Chubs spoke.

"I say we sing a traveling song! It'll ease our minds a wonder!"

Isadora frowned, "No, Chubs. I'd rather not—"

But Chubs was already launching away.

THE LION SLEEPS TONIGHT {technically from The Lion King}

Chubs: Weeeeeeee—a-wee-am- bum-buh-way—

{now, Duncan joins in, swaying back and forth with Chubs to the time of the music}

A-wimowah! A-wimowah! A-wimowah! A-wimowah!

{Isadora face-palms as Chubs begins his solo}

Chubs: In the jungle, the mighty jungle—

The lion sleeps tonight.

In the jungle, the giant jungle, the lion sleeps tonight—

Isadora: {relenting} O-ahhhhhh—ah-ah-ahhhh!

Chubs: {overlapping her} Weeeeeeee—a-wee-am- bum-buh-way—

Duncan: {overlapping him} A-wimowah! A-wimowah! A-wimowah! A-wimowah—

Chubs: Near the village, the peaceful village, the lion sleeps tonight.

Near the village, the quiet village, the lion sleeps tonight—

Isadora: O-ahhhhhh—ah-ah-ahhhh!

Ooo—ahh-ahhhhh-ahh—

Chubs: {overlapping her again} Weeeeeeee—a-wee-am- bum-buh-way—

Duncan: {overlapping him again} A-wimowah! A-wimowah! A-wimowah! A-wimowah—

{wailing solo time!}

Isadora: WOOO—OO—AHH—AHHH—

OOO-AHH-AHHH-AHH—

Chubs: {taking Isadora's hands} Hush, my darling.

Don't fear, my darling.

The lion sleeps tonight.

{Isadora continues wailing}

Hush, my darling.

Don't fear, my darling.

The lion sleeps tonight.

Isadora: WHOA—WO-OOOO-OO-

Chubs: {more overlapping} Weeeeeeee—a-wee-am-bum-buh-bum-buy way—

Duncan: {and one last overlap} A-wimowah! A-wimowah! A-wimowah! A-wimowah!

Isadora: WOOO—

{she stops short}

Chubs: {speaking} Why did you stop? It was just getting good!

Isadora: Don't you hear it?

Duncan: What?

Isadora: That buzzing noise.

Duncan: The only reason for making a buzzing noise that I know of, is if you're a bee!

Chubs: Stop quoting Winnie-the-Pooh, Duncan. There are no bees in these mountains.

Isadora: Than what is it?

Chubs: {matter-of-factly} Gnats. The dandruff gnats, to be precise.

Isadora: Are the dandruff gnats dangerous, by any chance?

Chubs: Well, that all depends on how you look at things—

{the buzzing noise is suddenly very close. at that very moment, a swarm of dandruff gnats rise up from a hive that rather resembles a pile of dung}

Duncan: DEAR GOD!

{the gnats immediately set to, with their veracious stinging}

Chubs: {writhing on the floor, practically covered in gnats} THE AGONY—THEY'RE EATING ME ALIVE!

Isadora: IT BURNS!

Duncan: STOP, DROP, AND ROLL!

THE CURTAIN FALLS

Violet opened her eyes. She was faint, weak—certainly she had been badly hurt when she had hit her head. What had it been? A stone adrift in the stream? Perhaps.

But who had moved her? For this certainly was not the stream, nor did their seem to be any rushing water near here. It was twilight. The last light of day shining down on—green fields?

Yes, this whole place was vibrant and full of life. The peaks of the Dandruff Mountains were very close, on every side, yet here were trees and wildflowers, even a freshwater lake, which does not count a a body of rushing water, as the water in it does not rush.

Someone had laid a blanket on her, Violet realized. It was a scratchy thing, and Violet noticed that it was woven from reeds, likely the same reeds that grew in the lake-bed.

Violet had no further time to process these confounding truths, for a shadow fell over her. Violet turned, and she saw him.

He was about six feet tall, and was magnificently built; though he looked like—

"Duncan?" she breathed. But no, it couldn't be him. Where Duncan was freckly, this boy's skin was tanned. Where Duncan's sandy hair was cut short and cropped, this boy's equally sandy hair was shoulder-length and unkempt. This boy, was as strong as a bear, and clad in a shirt and trousers of dried reeds, much like the sheet Violet as wrapped in.'

But his face—

It was so like Duncan's.

ONCE UPON A DREAM {from Sleeping Beauty}

Violet: {rising} I know you.

I've walked with you once upon a dream.

I know you—

The gleam in your eyes in so familiar a gleam.

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem.

But if I know you—

I know what you'll do.

You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream—

{she backs away a bit, still unsure as to who this person is. the boy, though, comes up to her}

Boy: I know you.

I walked with you once upon a dream.

I know you—

The gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam—

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem.

But if I know you—

I know what you'll do.

You'll leave this place, before I'm forced to kick you off my land.

Violet: {speaking} What?

THE CURTAIN FALLS

The boy pursed his lips, "Who are you? I haven't seen another person in this forest since a band of hikers were killed by the eagles."

"I'm Violet Baudelaire." Violet paused, not sure of how best to go about this strange man who wanted nothing more than for her to leave, "Who are you?"

"I'm Quigley." the boy had an unusually luscious voice for someone so rough-around-the-edges, "Quigley Quagmire."

"Quigley Quagmire." Violet repeated the name under her breath. This was the third Quagmire sibling. The one they had set out to find. It hadn't been so long ago that Alice Quagmire had told them—kind of—about her third child, whom she had sent to the ZYK Headquarters in the mountains, to go to school.

Evidently, Alice hadn't known that the place no longer existed, or she had some sort of ulterior motive for wanting her son in the mountains. Isadora and Duncan hadn't fully believed in Alice's story, and had wanted to go into the Dandruff Mountains to find Alice and Sunny.

But here Violet was. Quigley was real. And she was talking to him.

What was she to say? How would she tell him all about his lost family? She had to say something—

"Do you live here?" was what she settled for at last.

"Yes. I have lived her ever since the last outpost was destroyed."

"ZYK, you mean?"

"Yes. After the largest headquarters was taken down by a train, the remaining outposts began to fail. I had only spent two years in my studies, when we were stormed by the Snicketian police. For, after the rise of Lemony to the throne, there has been no alliance between the government and ZYK."

Violet couldn't believe this, "Why didn't you try to head down to civilization?" she didn't want to say to your family just yet. It might make Quigley suspicious that she knew his siblings.

"I preferred it here. This particular little glade is the Valley of the Four Deuces, formally the Zebras of Yarrow and Kronkite. ZYK gave it that ridiculous old name, before the mapmakers gave it a new one."

"Mapmakers?"

"Me." Quigley shrugged, "I pen maps of Snicket Land, in my spare time. Come and let me show you some of my work."

It was now dark and quiet, as Quigley took Violet's arm and led her over to the lake, where a crude hovel stood. It was hewn of a milky white stone that presumably came from the lake itself.

"My workshop." Quigley responded to Violet's puzzled look.

Through a little niche they went, and Violet found herself standing in a low-lying, damp-smelling place.

It was marvelous, really. There were flat stones stacked in pride of place, ringing the hut like a second wall. These stones had been cut into as though with a pick and chisel. These were Quigley's maps.

Going from her knowledge of Snicket Land, Violet spotted maps of the Hinterlands, Dirty Bastard, the Dark Forest, the Great Sea, and even the very mountains she was in now.

"This is incredible." Violet gasped, "How long have you been working on these?"

"Ever since I came to be hear. I had heard all of the stories of the outside world, and I remembered as well, my life as a child. I used this information to create this chamber."

"So you're a cartographer." Violet surmised.

"No. I make maps."

"That's what a cartographer does."

Quigley raised his brow, "Really? Hm. Well, I suppose you'd better leave."

"Leave?" Violet faltered, "But—but—" she suddenly remembered, as if coming out of a dazed stupor, that Quigley was the brother of two of her best friends, "Quigley! You have to come with me!"

"What? Why?" Quigley took a step back, as if his calm demeanor had suddenly fell away.

"Your brother and sister!" Violet beamed, "Duncan, Isadora. They're alive; they're in these mountains!"

Quigley grimaced, "I haven't seen my family in years. What do you know about them?"

"They're friends of mine!" Violet paused, thinking about Duncan—he was more than a friend, at least, "Come on, you have to come with me—"

"No." Quigley said firmly, "We'd get lost immediately out on those slopes. This valley is the safest spot between here and the forest. Besides, I don't want to see them."

"Why not?"

"I think," Quigley began rather slowly, "That if you wish to stay here, and in safety, you will refrain from speaking about my family."

A/N: A/N: I'm not sure when I'll be able to update again, so I'll sign off with the hope that you're intrigued enough by Quigley's entrance at long last to check out when we next post a chapter!

Update Coming at the Soonest Opportunity!;)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3, Colors of the Snow, and Wind, and Rain, and Hail and—

Disclaimer: We own nothing pertaining to this story except the unique character interpretations and our tongue-in-cheek sense of humor. Wow. That was perhaps the most dry disclaimer we've ever had.

A/N: And...back to normal life! Europe was spectacular, though it's very hot in summertime, and I absolutely could not wait to get back to writing this story, which is why I now present you all with this special surprise: **We're putting up Chapters 3 and 4 at once!**

PM1 and I sincerely hope you enjoy this return to Snicket Land, and hope to return to a more normal sort of updating schedule now that life has been restored.

Sunny did not like the room that she had been given at Kit's chateau. It was likely the smallest place in the house, and it was very dark, as the only window was painted over in a hideous shade of orange.

The bendy-woman from the carnival would tap on the door every once in a while, bearing a tray of gruel and a tankard of ale. Sunny swigged down the liquor, thinking fondly on the old days, when she had enjoyed William's Ale at her leisure.

That sort of ale had given Sunny a good buzz, and had tasted all cool and fuzzy. This ale tasted like stale poo.

Rat-a-tat-tat!

Someone was at the door, "Shylockian!"said Sunny, which meant, "Come in!"

The door opened and in strolled Olaf, looking incredibly full-of-himself, "Hello, Sunny."

Sunny sighed, "Out." she said slowly, "Now."

"No." Olaf put on a ridiculous pouting-face, looking defiantly at the wall, "I wish to talk to you."

Sunny looked pointedly at Olaf, cuing him to speak.

"Kit's guests are arriving in precisely one hour's time. They are the Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire from Dirty Bastard. Kit wants to know if you will be dining with us."

From the way Olaf sounded, he wanted nothing more than for Sunny to stay in her room and starve. Apparently, Kit had forced Olaf to make this speech. Maybe she really wasn't as bad as her lover was.

Sunny held her head high and said, in her most aristocratic voice, "Serve!" which meant, "Yes."

Olaf sniffed in his usual, put-off manner, and left.

Sunny had to prepare for dinner.

"How do you slow this thing down?" Lemony sang at a slow, funeral march-esque tone as he swayed back and forth in the back of the royal Snicketian helicopter.

Madame Anwhistle leaned her head against the glass. The Dandruff Mountains were spread out below her, like a map, and the steady whirring of the chopper was rather placating to Madame Anwhistle's nerves.

"How do you make this thing slow down?" Lemony continued singing, prompting Madame Anwhistle to snap, "Lemony shut up!"

If it had been anyone else addressing the Snicket in such a way, they would have been killed on the spot. Madame Anwhistle, though, had been Lemony's adviser since he had taken the throne, and before that, she had been adviser to his father: Jacob.

Lemony pouted, "I was enjoying my solo! 'Solo' is a word which here means: a length of verse composed and then sung by one individual."

Madame Anwhistle sighed. Lemony loved defining words, often while he was speaking to other people. He was very weird like that.

The two Snicker-appointed pilots began conversing with each other in light tones, saying that they were about to approach Mount Fickle-Nickle.

Good, Madame Anwhistle thought, I'd like to stretch my legs.

"Are you sure you packed all of my suits?" Lord Blackwoodshire flared very sternly at Lucy, perhaps hoping she'd make a fool of herself and stumble over her words again.

"Not to worry, Father." she replied simply, "I packed your whole ensemble."

Lord Blackwoodshire nodded, pleased with this. His wife though, was fidgeting to no end. She sat there in the limousine, buttoning her voluminous fur coat. Then unbuttoning it. Then buttoning it again, and so on and so forth.

She looked more nervous then a dancing bear that has fallen over. Lucy wondered, not for the first time, why her surrogate mother was so frightened of Kit Snicket, a woman whom she didn't seem to have much respect for.

And if that was the case, why were they going to this party?

Lady Blackwoodshire was now blowing a single wisp of hair from her face, watching it come down again, blowing it up again, and on and on.

They were now coasting up the winding Sometimes Ridden Road, which wound around Mount Fickle-Nickle. Looking out the window, Lucy marveled at how high this particular peak was. So tall, that it spiraled into the clouds.

"Who would ever want to live in a place like this?" she asked, almost to herself.

Lady Blackwoodshire heard her, though, and snapped, "People with shady ideals, that's who! Treacherous bigwigs with no respect for their betters—people who go against what the way is!

Mother Blackwoodshire would often talk about 'going against the way'. She had yet to explain what the way was, and so Lucy was natural curious.

Either way, at least the view was pretty from up here.

"You can't think you're going to keep me a prisoner!" Violet fumed. Quigley was already walking down the grassy plain, apparently not even paying attention to her.

"Wait right there!" she commanded, tripping over her feet on the way to the lost Quagmire.

"As I said," Quigley rounded on her, looking far more fierce than Violet would have liked, "If you wish to stay here, then you will not mention my family!"

"I didn't mention your family!" Violet hissed, "And besides, I am perfectly capable of surviving out in the mountains!"

"Really?"

"Of course! I've survived all sorts of danger! I've fought madmen! I've escaped fires, lions, floods, with my family. And yours."

Why had she said that? Was Violet purposefully trying to piss Quigley off? Whatever she was trying to do, Quigley was pissed off.

He raised his arm, so worn by years of rough-living, and brought it down on Violet's face. Pain. Burning and terrible pain. Violet fell to the floor, her hand reaching up to her cheek, feeling the red, raw mark forming there.

Quigley stood above her, seething like a beast of prey set loose.

Trapped. Trapped in this valley—or try and escape. Escape into the cold.

But now it seemed that Quigley was calming down. He slowly lowered his hand, and sighed. Slowly, he moved toward Violet.

Silent, whimpering in a way akin to a hurt animal, Violet scrambled back on hands and knees. What had happened to her old spunk? Why wasn't she able to simply stand up and defend herself? The answer, Violet figured, was very simple: she was scared. Scared in a way that nothing else had ever made her. Not even Olaf had frightened her this way.

But instead of striking again, Quigley sighed.

COLORS OF THE WIND {from Pocahontas}

Quigley: You think I'm an ignorant savage.

And you've been so many places, I guess it must be so.

But still I cannot see, if the savage one is me—

How can there be so much that you don't know—

You don't know—

{RISING CRESCENDO!}

You think you own whatever land you land on—

The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim—

But I know every rock and tree and creature has a life—

Has a spirit—

Has a name!

{he grabs Violet by the hand and leads her over a rise to a point that overlooks the Valley of the Four Deuces}

You think the only people who are people—

Are the people who look and think like you.

But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger, you'll learn things you never knew you never knew—

{he lifts Violet from the ground with bodily force and runs her down the slope, oblivious to her screams of terror}

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?

Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grins?

Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain!

Can you paint with all the colors of the snow!

Violet: {speaking} But the snow is white!

Quigley: {ignoring her} Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest!

{he begins leading Violet on a mad dash through several tall pines atop the valley}

Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth!

{he snatches a bunch of berries from a bush and shoves them into Violet's face}

Come roll in all the riches all around you!

{he pushes Violet down a slope, causing them to roll in a tumble down into the stream}

And for once never wonder what they're worth!

The rainstorm and the river are my brothers!

{he begins splashing water on the two of them}

The heron and the otter are my friends!

And we are all connected to each other! In a circle—

In a hoop that never ends—

How high does the sycamore grow?

{he sets to climbing an incredibly tall pine, Violet clinging to his back, half-scared out of her wits}

If you cut it down, then you'll never know!

And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon!

For whether we are white or copper-skinned—

We need to sing with all the voices of the mountain!

We need to paint with all the colors of the snow!

You can own the Earth and still all you'll own is earth—

Until you can paint with all the snow!

{he spreads his arms out, accidentally knocking Violet out of the tree}

THE CURTAIN FALLS

"WHERE IS SHE?"

"WHAT'S ALL THIS NONSENSE?"

"WHERE IS SHE?"

"SHUT UP!" Isadora snapped, looking at the two boys. They had been alternating between calling for Violet and making stupid jokes ever since they had escaped the gnats.

"Sorry sister." Duncan looked at the ground sheepishly.

"We really ought to find Violet, though." Chubs looked over the ridge at the pitch darkness.

"His name is Lancelot, he wears tight pants a lot—"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, SHUT UP!" Isadora hissed at Duncan.

The three moved on, Chubs humming the theme from Indiana Jones as they went.

"I don't want to be late."

"We won't be late."

"Due north here, darling."

"I know, I know!"

Dewey's specially designed hang-gliding cloak propelled him over the mountains, Esme in his arms. Esme hated traveling like this. It made her dizzy.

"Lovely northeasterly tonight." Dewey commented on the rather strong wind that blew at this altitude.

"It ruins my coiffure." Esme complained, running one hand through her tangled golden locks, "Kit Snicket will think me a tramp. I haven't been to a beauty parlor in ages!"

"You look fine, darling." Dewey assured her, planting a kiss on her cheek, "Kit Snicket has—er—nothing on you."

Esme smiled. She knew Dewey was trying to cover up his own past with Kit Snicket. She had been his first love, though Esme was a close second. Why had she invited them to this party? Dewey was bringing the Chamber Pot of course, what else was he to do with it?

But Kit was in league with Olaf now. This was all part of some convoluted scheme, Esme could tell. But she would be ready. She would not let Olaf take advantage of her again.

A/N: And now, Chapter 4 is already up for your reading pleasure. We'll have a real sign-off then. Do enjoy.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4, The Most Awkward Dinner Party in History

Disclaimer: You get the idea.

A/N: This chapter was insanely fun to write, you can't believe. Just the dynamic of so many characters together in one uncomfortable setting...oh, it was a grand time. I shan't detain you further, you may read on.

"A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down! The medicine go down! The medicine go down! Just a spoonful of sugar—"

"Will you stop singing that infernal song!" Olaf tossed a candlestick at his singing associate, Flo the white-faced woman.

"Sorry, the song just reminds me of that peculiar woman we met the other day!" Flo paused in her polishing of Kit's silver, "What was her name—Alice, I think."

Olaf gritted his teeth and hissed the words through his lips, "What. Did. I. Say. About. Mentioning them?!"

Flo stared at Olaf, threw down the polishing leather, and left the lounge.

"I have a pack of loons for henchmen, that's all they are." Olaf grumbled to himself as he tossed another log on the crackling fire, "That'll all change though. That'll all change."

"It's a big place."

"Ours is bigger."

"As you say, darling."

"I know."

Lucy didn't pay much mind to the arguing of her parents, as they stood in the shadow of the house. It was grand, certainly, with four towers—one at each corner—grand ramparts on the top, and bay windows.

"Good heavens, no!"

"Yes, dear?" Father Blackwoodshire looked at his wife.

"The skank has a statue garden!" she looked aghast, staring in horror at the walled off area to the side of the estate, where frostbitten figures stood in various artistic poses.

"We don't have a statue garden!"

"But we shall get one, dear."

Lucy sighed inwardly. She knew what this meant. Once they got home, she'd have to take up sculpting.

The doors were finally opened by a little hunchbacked man in a black cowl. He stared at them all for a few moments before crumpling to his knees.

"The guests to see Madam Snicket! By all means, come in, come in."

For some reason, Lucy noted, the little man did not sound very enthusiastic. It must have come from being a servant. Heck, Lucy was a servant in her own household. She supposed there was some bitterness to be felt.

As they were led into the house, Lucy heard Mother Blackwoodshire whispering heatedly to her husband, "The sniveling woman's employed some sort of—monkey man!"

Lucy—and the hunchback—both turned to look at her.

"What are you two looking at?" Mother Blackwoodshire said, "On we go!"

They went further into the house, past grand colonnades and gilded balconies. There were portraits of past Snickets hung on the walls, similar to the ones that were displayed in the Snicket Palace in Dirty Bastard.

Lucy was awed by everything from the crystal chandeliers to the velveteen carpets. The wooden panelings looked to have been recently polished, and the floors were equally scrubbed.

"Does she employ many staff?" Mother Blackwoodshire asked, not dignifying Kit Snicket's name with an honorific.

"No, mam. Just me and two others."

"There are many guests?"

"You are the first to arrive, except the boarders that Madam Snicket is keeping."

"Boarders?"

"The Count Olaf and his troupe of actors."

"Count Olaf?"

Lucy had never heard the name mentioned at home before, but it caused her parents to exchange significant looks.

Said Father Blackwoodshire: "What business does the Count have here?"

"He is an honored guests of my lady." said the servant in a rather strained voice.

He left it at that, and they were led into a dim-looking parlor. A fire was crackling in the hearth, and the chintz armchairs and couches looked very inviting after their long drive.

Sitting in the chair nearest to the fire was an elegant woman in a black gown, which did little to hide her pregnancy.

"Oh, Lord Blackwoodshire." she rose and did a little bow.

Mother Blackwoodshire looked affronted at not being addressed first, and cleared her throat significantly.

"And his wife as well."

She didn't sound very happy. Why were they here if everyone seemed to hate each other?

"We are still waiting on some other guests. In the meantime, the troupe of actors who stay here have volunteered to perform a bit of Shakespeare.

"Shakes!" exclaimed Father Blackwoodshire suddenly causing them all to jump and the servant to drop the tea tray he was bringing in.

"Pardon?" said Madam Snicket, raising her eyebrow.

"Nothing." Father Blackwoodshire went over to the tray and bent down, "I'll help clean up."

"You are very kind."

But Madam Snicket didn't sound very grateful. Grating was a better word, perhaps.

A bell rang. They all turned around just in time to see a little stage at the end of the room be lit up, and the curtain to rise.

The set was done up simply. With some wooden chairs and a table.

Two men—well, one of them was a man. The other looked vaguely unisex—were sitting at the table, both dressed in chain mail that looked to have been hewn of paperclips.

"Hark!" said the skinnier one, a man with gloves on over something that didn't look like hands.

"And liege-men to the Dane!" replied the unisex one in a booming voice.

"A Dane?" said the other.

"Aye." replied the other.

"Then eat me!"

The only one to laugh at this ridiculous parody of Hamlet was Father Blackwoodshire, eliciting a sharp glare from Mother.

Now a man even skinnier than the gloved one entered stage left. He wore a pair of black bloomers and a hat with a scarlet feather in it.

"It is I!" he said grandly, "Hamlet, Prince of Denmark!"

"I am the Dane!" said the gloved one.

'Hamlet' flourished his head grandly, showing off his unsightly uni-brow, "How goes it, Dane-mates?"

"There is a ghost." said the fat one dramatically.

"Than I will speak to it!"

"The man can't act." Mother Blackwoodshire whispered to no one in particular, "Besides, Hamlet's not supposed to be in the first scene."

"Hecklers!" 'Hamlet' roared, "Who dares insult my production?"

"I did." said Mother Blackwoodshire.

"I'll kill you!"

He jumped off the stage and proceeded to trip over his breeches. Mother Blackwoodshire laughed loudly. Father Blackwoodshire grimaced. The servant rolled onto his back for no apparent reason. Only Madam Snicket seemed remotely concerned in the well-being of the injured man, and went to him, calling, "Hugo, fetch a cold compress!"

The servant—who must have been Hugo—bowed and scurried away, as a pudgy woman done up in white power and an equally white sheet entered stage right, moaning.

"It is I!" she said, "The ghost of the very sexy Hamlet's father! Fear me! Word to your mother! WOOO!"

"Shut up, you cow!" screamed 'Hamlet' from the floor, "The show's canceled!"

"Sorry."

"This is where we sent her?"

"Yes. I believe you selected this estate particularly, Lemony."

"I don't recall issuing a statue garden?"

"You didn't."

"Well make a note: We need a statue garden back home."

Madame Anwhistle sighed. She was getting very quickly fed up with her employer. As a matter of fact, if it weren't for all the rich opportunities this trip offered, she would have refused to come.

"Do you have my skates?" Lemony asked, suddenly sounding worried.

"The pilots are bringing them in with the rest of the luggage."

Lemony breathed a deep sigh, "Oh, good. I thought for a moment that we were lost—'Skates' is a word which here means, 'A pair of shoes with dangerous blades attached to them that can be used for hours of enjoyment walking in the ice and slicing up people who offend you."

The doors were opened by a man that quite scared them all. He was middle-aged and wore a tailored sports coat with eight sleeves, to accommodate his eight arms. The sight of him made Madame Anwhistle cringe, and caused Lemony to screech in undiluted terror.

"Sweet bejesus and Mark Twain!"

The man looked offended at being responded to this way, and said, "Welcome to the manor of Kit Snicket. Your names."

Lemony, forgetting for a moment that he was scared, said, "Ahem! I am the Snicket of Snicket Land and this is my lowly secretary."

The man eyed Madam Anwhistle, who shrank back suspiciously.

"Oh, hello lowly secretary!" he smirked.

Madam Anwhistle tutted and let herself be led into the house while Lemony trailed behind, looking offended at being ignored.

"The other guests are congregating in the parlor." the servant said, reaching his fourth and second arms to stroke Madam Anwhistle's back. She swatted him away without blinking.

"My name's Kevin. What's yours toots?"

"Josephine." she replied, "You may call me Madame Anwhistle."

"Okay, Madam Anwhistle." Kevin winked in a way that Madame Anwhistle found absolutely repulsive.

They entered the parlor, where they were met with a picture of pure chaos. The Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire were arguing very loudly. A young lady was helping a hunchbacked servant clean some smashed china. A man Madame Anwhistle recognized as her past student Count Olaf was sitting in a chair, holding an ice pack to his head.

Kit Snicket was in the midst of this, staring at them. Of course, they were unexpected guests.

"Lemony?"

Everyone looked up.

"What are you doing here?"

"You are to address me as 'Your Snicketness, you worthless dung." said Lemony, not seeming to realize how stupid he sounded talking like that.

"Ah, dearest sister Kat—"

"Her name is Kit!" Madame Anwhistle hissed in his ear.

"Yes, Kit. How incredulous to see you again. 'Incredulous' is a word which here means—"

"What are you two doing here?"

"You must forgive me, Kit dearest." Madam Anwhistle said, removing her traveling cloak with a flourish, "I heard of the invitation and simply couldn't resist an urge to call on my star student. You were the finest Head Girl ever to attend ZYK Academy."

Lemony flinched a bit at hearing mention of ZYK. He had long ago forbidden mention of the secret organization, shortly after he had taken power. Then again, Madame Anwhistle had been headzykstress at the school there. She merited talking about it.

"Josephine," Mother Blackwoodshire said, as if just noticing she was there, "I didn't expect you to come calling. I was under the impression that—"

"I don't think a little extra company will hamper things any more for you." Madam Anwhistle tossed her cloak to Kevin who caught it, kissed it, and hurried away with it.

"Is there anything to drink, Kit dear? I'm simply parched!"

"Hugo go set some tea."

"Coming!" screeched the hunchbacked servant, getting up and sprinting out of the room.

"I must say, Kit. The house looks lovely. You are making the most of your exile."

"I want to go skating!" said Lemony sharply.

"It's eight o'clock in the evening, Lemony." Madame Anwhistle said, "Save it for tomorrow."

"Hm." Lemony went over and sat in a chair, evidently not noticing that he was in Olaf's lap.

"Get off me, you bureaucratic fool!" he said, pushing the monarch off of him and onto the floor.

"INSOLENCE!" roared Lemony, rearing himself up to full height, "KNAVISH FOOL! YOU ARE HENCEFORTH SENTENCED TO SUPREME EXECUTION—"

"Give it a rest, Lemony." said Madame Anwhistle, "Don't you recognize your old school mate? It's Olaf, Kit's old squeeze!" she looked at Kit and winked, not very kindly, "Or should I say, 'new squeeze'?"

"Please say nothing." Kit replied, also rather unkindly, "Oh, here comes Hugo with the tea."

Indeed, the hunchback was just tottering in with a new tea tray. The young girl got up, "Oh, let me help you!"

"Sit down!" snapped Lady Blackwoodshire.

The girl sat down so quickly that she fell onto the floor.

"Who is this darling child?" Madame Anwhistle asked.

"That is Lucy." said Lady Blackwoodshire indifferently.

"Our daughter." Lord Blackwoodshire said, lighting his pipe.

"She is very darling."

The girl smiled sweetly and did a simple curtsey. Madame Anwhistle nodded. Simple child. Very humble for the daughter of two loudmouth aristocrats.

They sipped tea in silence for some time, before Madame Anwhistle asked, "Will there be any more guests, Kit?"

"Yes." she replied, "Just two more."

This seemed to cause a stir of surprise among a few people in the room. Surprisingly, none of the guests were shocked at all. Well, why would they be? Madame Anwhistle was sure they had all read the guest list. She had, at least.

"Who else is coming?" asked Olaf, "Must we have any more surprises?"

"Ooo, surprise guests!" Madame Anwhistle simpered, "How very novel." This could play to her advantage.

"Dewey Plot Twist is coming."

"WHAT?" Olaf threw his teacup across the room, where it struck Hugo square on the head, "What the hell is this?"

"It is a courtesy." Kit said, "He is really a very pleasant man."

Madame Anwhistle noticed Kit look at Lemony. As she must have expected, the ruler of Snicket Land was quite flared up.

"HOW DARE YOU INVITE THAT SCUM, YOU WORTHLESS GIRL?! HE IS A MURDERER!HE HAS STOLEN GREAT KNOWLEDGE! 'KNOWLEDGE' IS A WORD WHICH HERE MEANS—"

"Oh, stow it Lemony!" Madame Anwhistle said, not able to express her joy, "This is too much! That old Chamber Pot scandal is years ago. It might not even exist."

Madame Anwhistle knew this was not true. She also knew that Lemony had had a vendetta against Dewey Plot Twist from the day the original ZYK headquarters was destroyed by Olaf. Dewey had stolen the most confidential of the confidential archives and hidden them in a chamber pot. This pot had been lost soon after, and then recovered by Dewey years later. Lemony had wanted it back. Such power was not fit for the hands of common men and criminals, he had said. Only the men in power could control such knowledge.

Lemony had sat down, and was now breathing deeply in and out of his nose. Madame Anwhistle tittered. He was so very simple!

"We're here."

Dewey landed on the front porch of the house, Esme in his arms.

"Are you really sure about this?" she said, "I don't want you to do anything stupid."

"Esme, Kit wants to make peace. You read her letter."

"Yes, and it is very easy to lie in a letter!"

"Esme, I am the father of her child."

"Don't start with that!"

"She probably wants to execute child support fees."

"Oh, please! You are an outlaw! She's probably trying to frame you or something—"

"You're being foolish, Esme."

"Don't tell me I'm being foolish! You ought to—"

The doors opened now, scaring both of them. In the doorway stood a shapely woman in a colorful leotard.

"Hello. I am Dewey Plot Twist, and this is Esme Squalor. We're guests at the party."

"Oh, like, of course!" the girl gushed, "Follow me!"

She literally pranced into the house, allowing them to follow her.

Esme knew this was a dunce's move. Nothing good could come of this, if only Dewey would listen to her. He was all she had left—Olaf had betrayed her. Olivia was gone. Carmelita—dead.

_No! Steady on, dear girl. You mustn't lose control at a time like this. Stay calm until something bad happens._

They were led into the parlor, now. A group of people were gathered around on settees, armchairs, and sofas. Among them were the other two guests who had been on the list: the Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire of Snicketian Parliament. They were looking impassively off into space, the woman seemed miffed. With them was a young girl of about sixteen, who was curled up on an Ottoman, sipping awkwardly from a cup of tea.

Then there was Kit Snicket, who was sitting in an armchair, looking blank-faced as they entered. And then there were the people they hadn't expected at all. Namely, the the ruler of the country and his press secretary, alternately known as Dewey's sworn enemy and Esme's old role model. Oh, and there was Count Olaf, the man who had pretended to Esme that he loved her, only to cast her aside for a baby, and then for Kit.

Madame Anwhistle was the first to her feet, "Esme, darling! It's been too long!"

She rushed forward and lay a cold hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, and here was your kidnapper!" she beamed at Dewey, "Thank you, loyal kidnapper, for bringing our beloved Whore back to us."

Madame Anwhistle seemed to have forgotten that is was she who had spread the story of Esme being kidnapped to the world, probably so that the people would not feel cheated at losing their mascot.

"You both must sit and have tea." Madame Anwhistle went on, taking some cups from the table. She looked at Kit, "I take it that there will be no further surprises, Kit dear?"

Kit stiffly shook her head. Olaf stood up and said, "Is this some ploy, Kit? I did not ask you to bring any of these people!" he paused, then added as an afterthought, "Except the Blackwoodshires, of course."

"I didn't invite my brother, Olaf. Believe me, if I had any say, I would throw them both out into the snow."

"How droll!" chortled Madame Anwhistle, in good spirits.

"But you invited them!" he pointed at Esme and Dewey.

Dewey stood, "See here, Olaf. Kit can invite who she wants. Then again, she apparently neglected to mention that you would be here."

"I'm sure you're devastated by my presence, Plot Twist." Olaf drawled, "But what matters to me is her!" now he pointed solely at Esme, who said brazenly, "Olaf, if you'll recall, the only reason with separated was your obvious lusting after a smelly, spoiled, little one-year—"

"Swivvly!"

They all turned to the door, to see the presence that stood on the threshold. Sunny Baudelaire, clad in a corn-colored chiffon dress several sizes too big for her.

'Swivvly', by the way, means: "What the hell is this? Where did all these people come from?"

"Why is she staying here?"

Esme was out of her seat in an instant, advancing toward the baby, who snarled, "Dolby-booby-doo!" which means: "Now who invited this little ho?"

"What did you call me?" Esme spat.

"Ho!" which means, "Bring it on, you corn-swallower!"

"I don't even know what that means!"

The two women were about to come to blows when Dewey and Olaf broke them off. Esme noticed, though, that the baby didn't seem to take much comfort in Olaf's arms, preferring instead to bite them while shrieking, "Trevelyan!" which means: "Let go of me, slave master! I thought you were holding me for ransom, not throwing me in front of all your past crack ho girlfriends—"

"What a mouth that baby has!" Madame Anwhistle was enjoying this far too much, "Did you teach her that, Olaf?"

"Shut up!"

"I'd suggest dinner." said Kit coldly, "But I don't know if human food is appropriate for the present company."

"You invited them!" Olaf insisted.

"Not them!" Kit pointed at Dewey, "Them!" she pointed at Lemony.

"I only came to skate!" he yelled.

"Oh, just come on!" Kit hurried out, "Dinner will be cold, anyway."

Dinner was a lukewarm affair. Kit sat at the head of the table, with Olaf on her left and Lemony on her right.

Sunny was next to Olaf, with four odd people—apparently Olaf's associates—lined up next to her. Madame Anwhistle sat next to Lemony and Dewey and Esme were next to her, with the Blackwoodshires and Lucy bringing up the rear.

They went through the—congealed—soup course very slowly. At one point, the enormous associate of Olaf's began to choke on its meal and had to be patted on the back.

"I find some lemon rind usually sweetens the broth." said Madame Anwhistle, who alone was enjoying the food.

Then, during the fish—Swervy Salmon filets—Lady Blackwoodshire got up and and said, "I've had quite enough! I'm leaving!"

"Don't leave!" Olaf roared, slamming his fist down on the table.

"I don't have to listen to you! You—you—ugly man!"

"I must say she's got that one head-on." remarked Esme.

"Oh!" Olaf looked at her, "Well if it isn't Miss Bighead! Care to tell us what it's like in Bighead World? Are you queen there? I bet you are! What's it like to be Queen of the Bigheads, hm?"

"Olaf, just shut up and enjoy your meal." Kit said, rubbing her temples.

The Blackwoodshires ended up staying. The meat course was served—short ribs with homemade glaze—and they dug in.

"Well, this meat certainly looks—interesting." Lemony was prodding his share of ribs with his fork.

"Its' normal pork, Lemony." Kit sighed, "Have you a problem with that?"

"Well, you see, if I act frivolous, things like this could well be taken as an attempt to poison me, something which I don't want to happen."

"I assure you Lemony," Kit spoke through gritted teeth, "That as much as I would like to poison you, that meat is clean."

"SO YOU SAY!" Lemony stood up, through his plate against the wall, and left.

"He's in a mood, today, I'm afraid." said Madame Anwhistle, "Though I must say, this glaze could do with a bit of work."

"I'm sorry my cooking doesn't please you." Kit said, "Would you like, perhaps, to make it yourself."

"Really," Lucy spoke up timidly, "Can't we all just get along?"

Everyone looked at her.

The skinny white-faced woman—Flo, apparently—got to her feet and went into the kitchen, complaining of nausea.

Dessert was a chocolate flambe that had been artfully prepared by Collete—the female servant—and Hugo.

"Delightful." Madame Anwhistle simply couldn't get enough of her meal.

Sunny, who had been silent throughout the whole affair, finally said, "Be in my room."

She slid out of her chair and tottered away.

"Oh she can speak in sentences, now?" Esme remarked, "She's learning. Where did you find her, Olaf? Are her siblings dead, yet?"

Lucy peeped, "Please, let's not talk of such things—"

Esme went on, "Have you murdered her siblings like you murdered her parents? Have you inherited the fortune yet? Well, I suppose you haven't, considering that you're still living with Missy Exiled, over here."

"I will not be talked to like that in my own house!" Kit fumed.

"Considering the way I've been treated—"

"Esme, don't do this." Dewey muttered.

"Oh, I will do it!" Esme stood up and went over to Kit, "Why did you invite us here? For a bit of dalliance with Dewey, hm? Or maybe to turn us all against each other, you're so very good at that."

"I don't think you're in any position to—"

"Don't tell me what I'm in a position to do!"

"Temper, girls! Temper!" Madame Anwhistle said, still eating.

"I'm going to bed." said Lucy getting up.

"STAY HERE!" everyone spat.

This evolved into a full out shouting match, in which everyone vied for a moment to scream the loudest. Lady Blackwoodshire took pains to insult the house, the staff, and Kit; Madame Anwhistle was attempting—very carelessly—to quiet everyone down; Flo returned from her vomiting spell and began to yell about what was going on; Fernald and Enya—the hook-handed man and the man/woman respectively—were arguing with each other about the placement of the tableware.

All in all, is was outright confusion in the dining room.

Things would only get worse as the weekend progressed.

Sunny had retreated to her room, where she sank onto the bed {after taking ten minutes to reach it} and burst into tears.

She bawled and bawled and bawled. She thought of all she had lost. Her family, her friends {if she could call those Quags her friends}, and more importantly, her dignity.

She smoothed out the creases of her shift and looked in the old cracked mirror that hung over the dresser.

She screeched at it, hoping it would work:

"SLAVE IN MAGIC MIRROR! COME FROM FARTHEST SPACE! THROUGH GAS AND ESTRUS I SUMMON YE-SHOW ME A PLACE!"

It was a chant she had worked ages to memorize. She hoped it would work.

It did.

Through the grime that coated the glass, Isadora Qaugmire appeared, looking down at something she held in her hands. Something Sunny knew to be her compact mirror.

"Holy smokes!" were the first words out of her mouth. She turned 'off-screen' to cry, "Chubs, Duncan! Sunny learned how to use the eternity spell!"

"That old bit of Deus ex Machina?" came Chubs' voice, "I thought we were well rid of it."

"Come over here, both of you! It's Sunny!"

Soon enough, it was Chubs' face in the mirror, beaming all gummily at his sister.

"Why, Sunny, bless my soul! I was beginning to think I'd never seen you again! Where are you?"

"Dirty house!"

"Oh, the chateau. We suspected as much."

"We knew as much," came Duncan's voice, "Olaf spelled it all out."

"Silence!" barked Chubs, "Sunny, are you being held in some sort of nasty place?"

"Smelly bed."

"Oh. What is the best way to get to Mount Fickle Nickle from the northwest bank of the Swervy Stream?"

Sunny smiled knowingly and clapped her hands, causing a detailed list of directions to appear on the mirror.

"How did you do that?" asked Chubs in sheer amazement.

"Deus ex Machina!" said Sunny in her proudest voice.

"We'll see you soon, Sunny!" said Isadora, "But we have to go now. We should be there by..."

She studied the estimated arrival time on the head of the map.

"Two AM."

With that, the transmission ended, with Sunny just remembering one very niggling detail.

"Where Vi...?"

But it was too late. The mirror now showed nothing but Sunny's frustrated features.

Sighing dejectedly, Sunny lowered her head on the pillow, and went to sleep.

Lucy stared at the spinning suds and articles of clothing going through the wash cycle.

She had been commanded by Mother Blackwoodshire to 'go and do the washing' while they conducted some sort of clandestine chat. Of course, the clothes had already been washed by Lucy before they had set out from Cattlebury, but Lucy hadn't wanted to mention that.

She reached into the breast pocket of her mousey cardigan and pulled out a faded photograph.

It was of Lucy, when she was a mere infant. She was flanked by her parents. It was the only photo she had of them. In the picture, her mother Laura was wearing a loud lavender shawl and her father George was peering skeptically through his slightly smudged spectacles.

Lucy sighed and tucked the photograph away again. Suddenly, with a great groan, the washer stopped dead.

Now it was Lucy's turn to give a great groan as she stood up to examine the dodgy old contraption.

"'Allo love."

Lucy screamed her head off and promptly fainted, without once turning around to see who was talking to her.

A DREAM IS A DREAM: INSIDE THE SLUMBEROUS SUBCONSCIOUS OF ONE LUCILLE TENCH

In her dream, Lucy was making pies while riding on the back of a mauve gorilla that vaguely resembled the statue at the zoo where her parents' honorary plaque was.

The gorilla spoke to her, in the voice of James Earl Jones, "Your parents are not dead."

Lucy, still getting over the fact that she had a celebrity gorilla in her dream, dumbly said, "What?"

"When we die, we become the grass, and the pigeon poos on the grass."

"What?"

"Your parents watch over you every day and beseech you, through me, to tell you something of the most grave importance."

"Okay. What is it?"

"Someday, your rinse will come."

And now, as dreams do, the whole setting changed into a swirling rinse cycle, in which Lucy was caught.

Also spinning around amidst Tide Detergent and dirty water was Count Olaf.

He said to her, "You must believe, child! You must...BELIEVE!"

Now Lucy was sucked into a void and dumped right in the middle of a flamingo stampede.

Riding one of these flamingos was Kit Snicket.

"Someday, child! SOMEDAY!" she shrieked wildly.

Lucy was just beginning to question what was in that dinner of the previous night, when music began playing and the flamingos began to circle around her expectantly.

And them, strangely, Lucy began to sing.

SOMEDAY MY PRINCE WILL COME {from 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs'}

Lucy: Someday my rise will come.

Someday we'll meet again.

And the birds will sing!

And dryer bells will ring!

Someday when my rinse...Does come.

And Lucy woke up. She was alone in the room.

And...FIN!

A/N: Hopefully, I can get chapter five up by next Friday. Even more hopefully you have enjoyed these two chapters and can't wait for more. Because, honestly enough, that's the reason I'm writing this. And also because I really adore the Baudes and the Quags. So much so, that I once accidentally called Klaus Baudelaire {I was reading the books again} 'Chubs', and was confused when they called him 'Klaus'.

Hopefully I'm not going mad with power, but either way, enjoy your week!

Update Coming {Hopefully} Next Friday!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5, There's Fire in His Skin. It's Turning Him to Sing.

Disclaimer: I've been giving it a lot of thought, and I'm pretty tempted to say that these storiesactually _do _belong to me. I mean, the characters and setting are so wildly contrived from the original versions, and the plot seems to have come out of a completely different place...but I'm not a megalomaniac, and Daniel Handler deserves to keep his books. I wish he'd write something else, though.

A/N: A Merry Christmas to you all...or any other winter holiday, though I believe Hanukah is over and Kwanza doesn't start for a bit more time yet. These huge pauses between updates are beginning to become so regular I feel like putting a 'update coming in about a year' note at the end of chapters so I can finally _beat_ one of my deadlines. Ah, well. Here's Chapter 5, an installment I particularly enjoyed writing. Also, stay tuned for the end of the chapter, when I will present you with a totally shocking announcement!

It was day two by now. Or three? Violet couldn't tell. There didn't seem to be any notion of time in the Valley of the Four Deuces.

She was well here, certainly. Fed well, and kept well, and treated considerably well. She didn't see much of Quigley, but she had the suspicion that he was simply mulling over asking her about her family.

And on the second or third or maybe even fourth day, Quigley came to Violet, hair tied back with a bit of twine, and scratchy-tunic done up to the neck.

"I'd like a word with you." said he, looking very uncomfortable.

"About what?"

"About you."

So they walked; they walked through the Valley, feeling the breeze in their faces and tasting the air of the mountains.

"I'm sorry I struck you the other day."

"Oh. You are?"

"I am. It really was very upfront of me. I haven't had anything to do with people in years."

"But I was telling the truth, you know." she told him, feeling just a mite scared, "I do know your family. Your brother...I know him and your sister, but your brother..."

She stopped herself. What would be the good of telling him how madly in love she was with Duncan? It would get him no closer to skipping off to find them.

"...your brother is badly hurt. I was helping him get better, but we were separated. Do you have any memories of them?"

"Scant to none. We were young."

"Ah. Listen, you don't have to come with me."

"I wasn't going to offer."

Damn.

"Quigley," she stopped short. She had rarely called him by his name, "Your sister would love to see you. She was shocked to find out that you were alive! Isadora doesn't even remember you."

Quigley offered no reply. Instead he said, "And my mother?"

"She's alive too."

"Oh, is she?" his tone grew very sharp, "Then tell her she needn't worry a bit about me. I'm just the child she abandoned so she could prove a point!"

"No, Quigley!" barely knowing what she was doing, Violet took him by the hand. It was calloused and firm and strong all at once, "You're mother was..."

"You don't know a thing about what my mother was! She lied, she double-crossed, she picked me up one day and shipped me here like a piece of packaging!"

"Your mother is delusional." Violet said, "She can't remember her children, she doesn't know where she is half the time. Whatever you can say about her, can't you agree that she's broken now? That she might...that deep inside she might want to apologize?"

"She broke me. I'm broken because of her. She ruined everything I ever set out to accomplish with my life!"

"But Quigley..." she was close to him now. So close she could smell his breath, see into those green eyes that reminded her more than anything else of Duncan.

But she couldn't think of Duncan, because if she did the reality of this closeness would come crashing down on her.

And that couldn't happen. It couldn't.

"Quigley, they're still your family."

"Family, eh? And what are you going to tell me about family?"

"Without my family...without them, I...I don't know if I could survive."

Now he was advancing on her. Their arms, perhaps unaware of their masters, were holding their shoulders. Violet felt her lips burn with some sort of adverse jolt. She couldn't...she couldn't...that would ruin everything.

"I haven't seen my family in almost a decade. I'm still here."

"Y-you're different." Violet felt one of her hands go to his tunic. She felt his heart pattering deep in his breast.

"I couldn't live without my family. They mean everything to me."

She was whispering now; perhaps trying to convince herself that Duncan was her family, as much as Isadora was. She knew that. But then why was she doing this?

She didn't know.

He smiled at her; she didn't think she had ever seen him smile before, "Then you must be different too."

They kissed. They kissed. They kissed.

* * *

They had been hiking through the night, and at sunrise, at last came upon some sign of human habitation.

"Now, what do you reckon that is?" asked Duncan, who had paused momentarily so as to gather his senses. The wound burned much less now, but the exertion could still bring out the pain.

Chubs, answering his friend's question, said, "The answer to our prayers, old boy. That is a human settlement."

Isadora said tentatively, "Don't we want to, you know, avoid other people? Considering that we _are_ still on the run from the law—"

"Isadora, my dear," Chubs said knowingly, "the people in these backwater reaches of the nation shan't have had any access to the news of the world! How would they know anything about…?"

"LET CHRISTMAS SHINE! BRIGHT AS A DIAMOND!"

The trio turned abruptly at the commotion and looked down at the little cluster of log cabins and barely-paved roads. Running up the slope toward them were a platoon of men in woolen robes, carrying spears with wooden tips sharpened to a point. They were chanting this strange chant over and over again like a battle cry.

"You see, if it were anyone but us, this sort of thing would be dismissed as a wild fantasy." Sighed Duncan.

"Which is why, friend Duncan, we must be glad to be us!" Chubs was very proud and stood very erect as he addressed the warriors.

"How now, brown cow!"

"What the hell is that?" Isadora whispered to him. Chubs replied, "It is the language of the wild tribal folk! I learned it from the back of a cereal box!"

Isadora was about to tell him that she didn't think that constituted for anything in this place, but before she could say anything, one of the men, a captain of some sort, began to speak.

"You are trespassing on the land of the Snow Scouts."

"Good to know." Said Chubs, "Are you the ruling principles in this region?"

"We are the protectors of the Dandruff Mountains and we do not take kindly to your stupidity."

"Stupidity! My dear sir, I have a primary school education!"

The Captain went on without deigning to complement Chubs on his ten years of finger painting and making macaroni sculptures.

"You will be brought to trial, before our court of justice, whereupon your fate will be decided."

They were surrounded by these men and, as they were being herded down into the village, Isadora said, "Chubs, I love you, but it would help if you learned to shut your mouth every once in a while."

"Isadora, I love _you_ but it is through using my mouth that I am able to whisper sweet things into your ear at the midnight hour when we are entwined in each other's bodies and the moonlight is leaking through the windowpanes, illuminating your pale…"

"Ahem!" coughed Duncan. Chubs broke off, embarrassed.

"Oh. Sorry. I almost forgot that we're the legacy couple!"

"And it's a damn fine legacy too, let me tell you." Isadora held his arm lovingly, their quarrel forgotten.

"Agreed."

* * *

"What is a five letter word for dirigible?"

"I don't know and I don't care."

Lord and Lady Blackwoodshire were sitting to breakfast in the dining hall of the Snicket chateau. He was immersed in the morning crossword, and she was waiting impatiently for the arrival of Madame Anwhistle, so they could carry on a much delayed discussion.

But, instead of Madame, in strode Count Olaf, wearing a most peculiar outfit. He had outfitted himself in what was undoubtedly a woman's parka and was wearing a pair of knee high snow boots.

"Good morning, infidels!" he greeted them as he sat down at the head of the table, "It's good that I got you two alone. You're the only guests here this weekend that I asked the woman to invite."

"Oh, we're _your_ guests, are we?" Lady Blackwoodshire smirked, "What treachery are you up to this time? Raiding underpants drawers?"

"No!" Olaf punched the table, upsetting the tea pot on his hand and thus scalding him. While he hopped around the room, hand to his mouth and howling unduly, Lord Blackwoodshire said.

"Bloody printer's error! They muffed up the answer key!" he tossed the paper across the room and looked at his wife, "Pass the scones."

Olaf ran over to the finger bowl at the end of the table and dunked his hand in the lukewarm water.

"Are you finished?" asked Lady Blackwoodshire nonchalantly.

"Yes! Yes, I am. Now, what I was going to say is..,"

The doors were thrown open yet again, admitting Lemony and Madame Anwhistle, who were arguing.

"I can't believe you left my mix tapes at home!" Lemony was saying. He pushed Olaf aside and plopped down into a chair.

Madame Anwhistle sat across from him, "Oh, stop your yammering. For heaven's sake, you're acting like a child. Besides, it's not like anyone here wants to listen to that Cher woman…"

The kitchen door flew open, and Colette stuck her head in, "OMG, did somebody say Cher?"

Lemony raised his hand, "That is me!"

The elastic woman proceeded to somersault over the table and land in his lap.

"I have, like, all her albums! She is _the bomb_."

"You see, where we come from, people like you are locked in the basement for fear of what the neighbors might think." Lady Blackwoodshire said tartly.

"Well, we have no neighbors, so that's fine." Collette stuck her hand in the bowl of scones and stuck one in her mouth. She twisted her neck around her torso; moved her leg over her shoulder, and promptly announced, "And now I have to take a poo!"

She got up and skipped out of the dining room.

Olaf, taking a deep breath, pointed at Lemony and said, "Now, you see, I can't speak with you around! You'll be taking notes so you can have me arrested."

"If I wanted to arrest you—a word which here means 'lock in a barred room with hordes of man-hungry masculine types'—I would have called people to take you away the moment I saw you in the parlor last night."

Madame Anwhistle said, hoping to chance the subject, "And where are your colorful associates, Olaf?"

The reply, "Burning in hell, I hope."

"And why do you hope that?" asked Lady Blackwoodshire.

"Because they're going soft on me! The lot of them have been at my side for years, and yet here they are, talking of taking 'vacations' and wondering about 'salary'! Salary, I ask you! What am I supposed to do? Throw pennies at them?"

"This really is very dry conversation." Remarked Madame Anwhistle, "Almost as dry as this toast! I think I'm going to adjourn to the living room. My stories start in a few minutes."

She got up and left, shortly followed by Lemony.

Once Olaf had made full sure that no one still lurked around, he said to the Blackwoodshires, "At last! Now, here is why I had you brought here…"

But the door opened again, and in walked Esme and Dewey. They sat at the table without even looking at Olaf or the Blackwoodshires, and began eating.

"Oh, well if it isn't the man in the pretty mask!" Olaf began prancing around the room like a pantywaist, "How is the pretty mask man today? Sulking around the house in his cape and hiding the precious Chamber Pot in his tampon drawer! Yes, pretty mask man?" he leaned in close to whisper in Dewey's ear, "Is the Chamber Pot in your tampon…?"

Dewey got up from his chair, seized Olaf by the parka, and began bashing his head against the surface of the table.

Esme cried out, "Dewey! Dewey, for God's sake, don't give in!"

She tried to pull the two rivals apart from each other, but this task proved impossible.

Lady Blackwoodshire whispered to her husband, "Are we supposed to throw money at them?"

"They only do that in the laboring class."

"Oh. " Lady Blackwoodshire snorted, "_Laborers_."

Now Kit ran in, hearing the commotion, and on seeing Olaf being beaten senseless, she stamped her foot on the floor and yelled.

"Stop it at once! Both of you."

And the fighting did stop. Olaf dropped to the floor, rubbing his aching head.

"Dewey, I invited you here so we could come to terms with each other."

"Oh?" Esme couldn't help herself, "So the Chamber Pot has nothing to do with it?"

Kit crossed her arms over her baby bump, "I wouldn't act so high and mighty if I were you, Esme. I might as well ask what you've done with the Zimmerie."

Esme blanched, "How do you know about that?"

"Everyone knows about that." Kit smirked, glad to have found a way to change the subject, "The police couldn't find it when they searched her personal effects. Obviously, she gave it to you before fleeing, or dying, or whatever the hell happened to our mutual friend. The Snake Chick."

_Now_ Esme lost it. She slapped Kit, sending her flying against the door.

"How dare you? How _dare_ you even mention her? You have no right!"

"You didn't answer my question." Kit replied, her voice steely, "Where is the Zimmerie?"

"What would you even want with it? You don't have the gift."

"If we're talking about gifts, I'd cite the surprise of this breakfast-time bonding session as a much valued one." Said Lady Blackwoodshire, between bites of scrambled eggs.

Kit went on, ignoring the interruption, "I may not have the gift, but if you're accusing me of looking for the Chamber Pot, I might as well be looking for _your_ stolen contraband too, right?"

"Enough, Esme." Said Dewey, putting a hand on her shoulder, "You're right. We're above her level." He looked around the dining room, "I think we should skip breakfast."

And so, he guided Esme, who was trembling with fury, out of the room.

"Well played, my dear. Well played." Said Lady Blackwoodshire to Kit, "You should have your own reality television show."

She looked at her watch.

"Hm. My stories are starting. Jo and I can catch up over Y&R."

And then she was gone, with her husband following. Left alone in the dining room, Kit sat in a vacant chair and looked at Olaf, who was just emerging from his daze.

"I shouldn't have invited them."

"Damn right, you shouldn't' have." he got up and dusted off his trousers.

"I should have gone to see him in person."

And, leaving no other explanation, she left as well. Olaf helped himself to a scone, smacked his lips, and said, "Women!" before going off in search of the wine cellar.

* * *

"Do you think I'm a frightening person?"

Fernald was in the process of peeling some grapes with his hooks. He and Flo were relaxing in the solarium, and Fernald had taken advantage of this moment alone to ask a question that had been pressing him for some time now.

"Why do you ask?" Flo, who had been braiding her hair complacently, wondered.

"Well, I scared the Jenkins out of that girl last night. I came upon her and she got the wind up and passed out. Afraid I left here there."

Flo ran her hands down his front, "You're not scary. You give the best massages of any man I know!" she winked, "I've got the scars to prove it."

Fernald smiled sheepishly, "Yeah, I did give you those nasty ones, didn't I?" he sighed, "We're not a conventional couple, are we?"

"Hm…well, I think we're pretty normal." Flo tossed her new braid to see how it would hold. It held rather well, thank you very much.

"I mean, you had that one weird vision that one time…"

"And it _was_ one time! I never had another one, before or since." But it _was_ true that Flo had had a mysterious psychic episode one night about a month ago. It had actually been the night they got together, back at that carnival in the Hinterlands. At the time it had greatly troubled her, but she had mostly gotten over it by now. The vision had been pretty vague, anyway; more confused images than a coherent message.

"…and I have my hooks." He held them both up in a 'what-can-you-do?' sort of fashion, "We make a queer sort of picture walking down the street."

"Well, that's what we are." Flo said decidedly, "If we're queer, we're queer, and that's all there is to it. As long as I've got you, I'm happy."

And Fernald had to admit, "Likewise."

* * *

The atmosphere in the Valley was charged with mixed passion and tension. Violet and Quigley stood, arms wrapped around each other, and lips now just an inch apart.

That kiss…that kiss had been so different than any one that Duncan had ever given her. He had always been a gentlemen; kissing gently, never pressing too hard. Quigley had no such scruples. His kiss had been full, warm, and passionate, as befitting the aforementioned atmosphere.

Quigley was breathing deeply, and Violet found that she was too.

"Oh…oh, this isn't right." She carefully pulled away from him, "I can't, Quigley."

"Why?" Quigley seemed honestly disappointed; saddened even, "Have I upset you? I'm sorry, if…"

"No, no, Quigley, it was wonderful, but…" she bit her lip, and figured she would take the risk of sounding like a character on daytime TV, "I love Duncan. Your brother. I'm in a relationship with him."

That seemed to strike Quigley like a ten-ton-stone. He staggered, wavered on his feet, reached his hand to grab at her arm.

He threw his arms into the air and let out a cry for the ages. He spun around and stormed off across the valley.

"Quigley? Quigley, wait!" Violet chased after him, followed him over to a low spot down by the lake. She found him there, seething in his own personal stew.

"Quigley…Quigley, what's wrong?"

He picked up a rock from the bed and brandished it. Violet, thinking he was about to throw it at her, shrank back, but was surprised when he hurled it into the water with a _sploosh_.

"Of all the people in the world who could have come to me," he said, his voice monitored, "I had to get the girl who's in love with the brother I barely know!"

He took another rock and threw it. Violet blamed herself; she _had_ to open her big mouth and ruin everything just when he had started acting like a somewhat decent human being.

His face was flushed beet red, and his every movement invoked rage.

"Six years!" he was grumbling, more to himself than to her, "Six years all alone in this godforsaken wilderness! People aren't meant to be kept away from society! It's not right! It's inhuman! _I'm inhuman_, for the love of God…"

"Quigley!" Violet said, as loudly as she could muster, "You are perfectly human, and being alone hasn't changed that one bit. I'm sorry I teased you like that. I wasn't thinking straight. I happen to have a lot on my mind right now."

"Welcome to my world," he said bitterly, tossing another rock, "When you have no one to talk to, you tend to have conversations with your mind for hours on end."

Violet picked up a rock of her own and tossed it up and down in her hand. Smiling at Quigley, she tossed it a good way, almost halfway out into the lake.

Quigley looked impressed, "And where did you learn to do that?"

Violet shrugged, "I'm good at throwing things. It really helped in primary school, believe me."

He held out a hand, "Shall we call it a truce?"

Violet couldn't help but give a small laugh. In that he reminded her perfectly of Duncan, "In common social circles, it's called 'let's be friends'."

"Yes. Friends."

They shook hands.

Quigley led her over to a spot on the grass where they could sit and soak up the sun.

"What are they like? Isadora and Duncan, I mean. It's been such a long time."

Violet smiled, "Well…"

And, as she began to tell him about his siblings and hers, about her adventures of the past few months, Violet made a secret resolution to herself that she would stay in the Valley of the Four Deuces. For a little while. Quigley needed her. He needed someone to talk too.

* * *

"Now, see here, I demand to see the embassy for the civilized population!" Chubs demanded as the Snow Scout militia ushered him, Isadora, and Duncan into the largest of the cabins. Here, a large fire burned in a deep wood hearth. There were various tapestries hanging on the walls, featuring woven images of the Scouts, in their black face masks, storming rival tribes and hunting caribou and other mountain creatures.

The Captain of this particular squad slammed the foot of his spear against the floor and announced, in a loud voice, "Presenting, the Divining Rod of our People, who has so lately brought fortune to the Snow Scouts in the conquest of the Ninipickies of the North, Barbara Ross!"

"That's a very odd name for a tribal seer." Said Duncan, only to realize the truth as Barbara Ross entered the cabin.

She was cloaked in robes of animal skin, with a headdress of caribou horns adorning her head. She carried a scepter of pine wood and, most importantly of all…

"Oh my God." Gasped Isadora.

It was Alice Quagmire.

"Wait, wait, wait." Isadora went on, "That's impossible."

"What is impossible?" asked the Captain.

"She's not a prophet!"

"And now you commit heresy! This woman predicated our victory in the battle for the territory of the Ninipicki tribe, and also gave us the strategy by which we won our victory."

"And where did you find this woman, to be precise?" asked Duncan.

"She came to us from the banks of the Swervy Stream. So graceful was she, as she rose from the waters, gnawing the head off a Swervy Salmon with great relish!"

Chubs turned quite green, "Oh dear, now I'm sick!"

"Then be sick outside!" The Captain snapped his fingers and two Scouts roughly escorted the heaving Chubs out of the cabin.

The Captain turned to Alice.

"Oh, great seer of our people, reveal to us the fate these miscreants shall suffer!"

Alice began clapping her hands and doing some sort of possessed jig. Isadora shook her head and turned to her brother, "We've had a mom for three days and I'm already sick of it."

"Touché."

As Alice executed her jig, she sang:

"BURN BABY BURN! OH, YEAH! BURN BABY, BURN! DISCO INFERNO! BURN BABY..."

"Of course, she would pick that song." Isadora sighed; then, figuring as she was the only one who was able to communicate with Alice thus far, she called out, "Mom! It's me, Isadora, and Duncan! We're your _children_! For crying out loud, you're going to have us killed!"

But Alice continued singing, discoing like nobody's business.

The Captain of the Guard nodded that this was just so and turned to Isadora, "Cease your rambling, wench. The seer Barbara Ross has made her verdict. The three of you prisoners shall be burnt on a pyre this evening."

Duncan lowered his gaze, "Well…they can't say we didn't try!"

Chubs returned, looking fresh, "Ah! Much better…is something the matter?"

Isadora buried her face in her hands and said, "No, Chubs. Nothing's wrong. We're just in danger of being killed. Again."

"But that's dreadful!" exclaimed Chubs, stating the obvious for perhaps the ten-thousandth time in his career.

And while he celebrates that magnificent milestone, let's move on to some of the other characters in our little drama.

* * *

Sunny had waited up all night till far past two in the morning. No rescue party came, nor was there any sign of one coming.

She sat on her oversize bed, looking glumly out the window at the April sun shining down on the gray stone of the Dandruff peaks. It was an inspiring sight, a sight that inspired action and hope.

However, Sunny could think of no further actions to undertake, and as for hope, what good would that do to her now?

She heard a knock at the door. Figuring it was one of the freaks with a platter of lunch she said, "_Entrez veu!_" which means, "Enter!"

The door opened, admitting someone Sunny had not been expecting in the slightest.

"He-She?" which meant, "The hermaphrodite? What in hell are you visiting me for?"

"Well, it's not for a sit down and a chat over tea, let me tell you." Said Enya, the largest and most down-to-earth of Olaf's cronies.

It propped itself up against the radiator and said, "Kit Snicket wants to know if you'd like to come down to tonight's dinner-and-dance stupidity."

Sunny raised her eyebrows. There it was again: Kit extending charity to her. It was probably only because Sunny was a captive guest of Olaf, but still, it was nice to be acknowledged.

Nevertheless, Sunny shook her head, "No way, frappe!" which meant, "No way in hell! I'm not showing my face in front of those halfwits again."

She had had quite enough of the lot of them.

Enya grunted, "You've got spunk, I'll grant that. And you're smart enough to know not to tangle with that passel of fighting idiots. Everyone's plotting against everyone else. And," it leaned in close to whisper to Sunny, "Between you and me, I'm getting quite sick of Olaf myself."

"Ooh!" Sunny gasped, meaning, "Okay, I'm intrigued. Go on."

"The bastard refuses to pay us fair wages. He insists we'll get a cut of your family fortune now that your siblings are dead…"

Sunny tried to conceal from her face that she knew at least one of them was alive.

"…but I know for a fact he's all bluster. Meanwhile, he's crowing on about finding that stupid Chamber Pot, and how easy it should be now that Dewey Plot Twist himself has returned to us." It snorted, "Frankly, I think that Chamber Pot's all bologna! Whatever's in it, it's not going to change the way things are in any drastic way. The human race is too stubborn to accept such hasty changes to the agenda." It turned back to the door, "Well, nice talking to you. I've got to help them put out 'place settings'."

And with another snort, Enya had left.

* * *

Olaf, lingering in the depths of his most dramatic of moods, drew the curtains in his bedroom, lit the fireplace, and draped a moth-eaten magenta tablecloth around himself.

"That Sunny thinks she's hot stuff, don't she?" he muttered, as he paced the room back and forth, "Thinking she can sway my romantic feelings to _her_ by way of ESP!"

This was Olaf's thinking. It couldn't be farther from the truth.

"The little fool thinks that _I _would abandon_ Kit Snicket_, my new flavor of the week, for _her_! A sniveling baby child who still poos her pants!"

He stomped his foot on the floor and roared at the top of his lungs.

"KIT SNICKET IS MY LOVER WHOM I LOVE INDEFINITELY!"

"SHUT UP!" came a voice from downstairs.

"YOU SHUT UP, HOOKY!"

Olaf decided to turn to the one place he always turned when in need of faith: the oil painting he had commissioned of himself in his younger days. It showed him, at twenty-three, splayed out on a Roman sofa, sans a shirt and pants, but with a speed-o to preserve modesty.

HELLFIRE {from _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_}

Olaf: Dear me who is so lovely...

You know I am a sexy, intelligent, frugal, family oriented, and honest man.

Of my virtues...

{he winks}

I am justly proud!

So tell me dear me who is so lovely...

Why I see her biting there?

{an image of Sunny appears in the flames, biting her hands}

Those pearly whites that so haunt my soul!

Horny-fire! This fire! This fire in my skin! Horny-fire! This fire...it's turning me to skim!

{he begins skipping around the room, twirling around in his cloak}

It's not my fault!

I'm not to blame!

How can a biting girl destroy me...of such fame!

{he rips off his shirt. You pass out in horror}

Destroy Sunny Baudelaire! Make her see the error of her ways!

Horny-fire! Dark fire! This fire in my skin! Horny-fire! This fire! It's turning me to...

FIN!

A/N: In keeping with classic tradition, I enclose a list of surprising things that will happen next chapter.

THE IDENTITIES OF THE BLACKWOODSHIRES!

THE SECRETS OF THE SNOW SCOUTS!

THE ORIGIN OF DEWEY'S SCARS!

MADAME ANWHISTLE'S SECRET AGENDA!

HOLY SMOKES, I'M GOING TO HAVE A HEART ATTACK!

And now it's time for the amazing announcement. Plot Murderer 1 and I are collaborating yet again...actually, we've been working on something for about three years now...and we're almost ready to release it to you all.

Do you like crazy crossovers? Strange stories full of intricate plots, crazy character pairings, and a touch of self deprecating humor? Then, dear reader, be prepared for _The Soap Parody_, a world-spanning tale that will feature characters from just about every outlet of Western civilization imaginable. The story will hopefully be up by next month. It's still undergoing edits because I'm very paranoid about errors.

Now that I've finished glorifying myself, I leave you again with best wishes for a Happy Holiday and a a Happy 2013.

P.S. The world didn't end yesterday. Isn't it marvelous?


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6, Be Prepared for A _Hell_ of a Lot of Surprises

Disclaimer: OMG. It's Friday, we're updating...isn't that incredible?

A/N: As said above..._holy smoke, I've managed to update less than a week after the last chapter! The best part is.._I loved writing this chapter. Oh, and have you, dear reader, noticed my sparkly new avatar? I made it myself. It probably shows. I just thought that it would be a fun thing to do. I'm also thinking of finally updating the Plot Murderer profile page and adding some polls or something. Well, happy 2013 to all of you, our dedicated fanbase. I know you're there because i just discovered that cool 'view graph thing' on the profile. I was shocked at how many people have actually read these stories! And, without sounding like a needy, starving artist who feeds on other people's opinions...I _would_ like a review or two, _per favore_? I just like getting critiques. It helps the imagination. But, what am I doing? Get along and read, read, read!

Enjoy your trip to Snicket Land.

Esme lay, face down, on her bed, while Dewey softly massaged her back. It was by now, late afternoon, and the smell of dinner being prepared wafted through the chateau.

"It's so good of you, Dewey..." Esme sighed, "You don't know how _hard_ it is to be around them all again!"

"No, no, Esme." Dewey said in a voice that was not-all-there, "I understand. I simply wanted to honor Kit's invitation. I figured she had something important to say."

"Oh, no, no, Dewey. Kit never has anything _important_ to say. She just likes manipulating this whole affair; we're just spices in an elaborate seasoning prepared for her benefit."

"Where did you get _that_ one from?" Dewey said perplexedly.

Esme shrugged, "You pick things up from Olaf's people."

There was another long silence. Esme was feeling very relaxed now, and very brave. She decided to ask, yet again, the signature question of Dewey and Esme Part II.

"Dewey, darling, won't you please tell me _where_ you got your...?"

"No."

And that settled that. Esme settled back into her reverie, where a thought came to her, perhaps sent by the lovely muse of plot devices.

She had a book of magic hidden in this very room. What was stopping her from using it to get the secret out of Dewey.

_Oh, but that would be very low, surely?_ Esme thought; then again, Dewey had it coming to him. And, if the spell worked well, he wouldn't even remember the process.

They couldn't keep keeping secrets in their relationship! That very thing had destroyed their relationship {and would-be marriage} last time.

* * *

"Kit, my dear, you're a wonder at party-planning." Lady Blackwoodshire remarked, though continually telling herself that _her_ parties were something to die for.

The two women were sitting on an indoor balcony overlooking the chateau's huge ballroom, where Olaf's associates were hurrying about with supplies for the dance party that was to take place in the evening.

"Well, thank you, Lady Blackwoodshire." said Kit, staring somewhere into the distance, "But, you see, I haven't had much training."

"But at Josephine's school, certainly? Back in those halcyon days of ZYK?"

Kit shrugged; she didn't seem to be listening much to what Lady Blackwoodshire was saying. This annoyed the Lady very much, and she excused herself.

As she crossed the main hall, she was confronted by Lucy.

"Afternoon, dear, I haven't seen you all day." Lady Blackwoodshire narrowed her gaze, "Did you do the laundry as I asked?"

"The washing machine broke down during the rinse cycle." said Lucy, in her usual timid voice.

"Pity. Well, we could always have the monkey man fix it." Lady Blackwoodshire normally would have put Lucy herself on the task, but as this wasn't the family house, the point seemed moot.

"Mother, I'd actually like to ask you a question."

"Oh?" Lucy didn't usually ask questions. Very rarely there was one about her parents, but that was pretty much it.

"Well, go on then, girl, out with it. I have to get dressed for dancing tonight."

"My parents..."

Oh, here it was again.

"Dead, my dear, dead. You know this story."

"No, no." Lucy shook her head, "I don't want to know how they died. I want to know...are they _alive_?"  
Lady Blackwoodshire raised her eyebrows, "Wherever did you get that idea?"

"A dream I had."

"Well, you must have been eating those wonder-inducing mushrooms. I told you they were only for your father."

"You're right...it's silly of me. It's just...the dream seemed so _real_."

"A lot of things seem real when they aren't. Take Kit Snicket's breasts for instance..."

But Lucy had already moved on. Lady Blackwoodshire suppressed a shiver.

After all these years...how could it all come up now?

* * *

A single note had been slipped under the door of each of Olaf's associates. They found these notes in the time when they were meant to be dressing for dinner.

_Come to the lounge in the south wing. What transpires there will be most beneficial to you_.

And so, the associates banded together on finding they had received similar notes, and went together to the south lounge.

There were the classic gang: Fernald, Flo, Tocuna and Enya, as well as the new-age folks: Hugo, Kevin and Collette.

"What do you reckon it's all about?" Fernald asked Enya, who replied with a, "Probably Olaf with another stupid murder plot."

"I'm getting damn tired of people turning up dead everywhere." said Flo, "It's getting to be very routine."

"Ooh, I _hope_ it's a vacation!" Colette clapped her hands excitedly, "It's getting so _boring_ just hanging out in this house."

Kevin said, "He's probably just looking for some kind of excuse to lay one of us off."

"Oh no!" moaned Tocuna, "And I was getting _so close_ to retirement!"

"You're thirty-eight." Flo pointed out drily.

"Oh. Right."

Now they came to the south lounge, a dark and dusty room that clearly had been disused for a long time.

And, standing in this room, was not Count Olaf, as they had been expecting.

IT WAS JOSEPHINE ANWHISTLE!

Too much?

Anyway, the elderly woman was already dressed for dancing in a chic black chiffon dress. She had let her white hair down around her shoulders in ringlets, and had nixed her spectacles for the evening.

When she saw them, she smiled.

"Ah, yes. You've come."

"Oh God, she's gonna arrest us!" gasped Fernald, who tried to turn tail and run off. But Madame Anwhistle stopped them from leaving.

"No, no. I am not going to have you put away. This get together is of an entirely friendly nature. I have called you here only to help you, and to have you, in return, help me."

"What's this all about, woman?" asked Enya gruffly, "Why would you need our help?"

"We have something in common you know. We are both mistreated by our employers."

"Oh, I see where this is going..." Flo sighed.

"I have served the Snicket family for an entire generation and some more. And yet, I get nothing in return but more heaps of work. Yes, I am chief adviser of the nation, but that job offers surprisingly few perks." she clasped her hands together in front of her, "You have been serving Count Olaf for various lengths of time; some for almost the entirety of his career. You have aided him in heists and murder schemes, and tasks of espionage, but have you ever really gotten anything in return?"

"No." replied Enya at once, "No, we have not. We rarely even have a _roof_ over our heads, the way things usually are."

"And that's why I am asking your help, in return for my help to you." Madame Anwhistle's smiled was small and hopeful; probably the kind she had once given to students as headzykstress of ZYK Academy.

"What would you have us do?" asked Hugo, speaking for the first time in a while.

"Simple, simple. You must join together with me to help me..." she paused dramatically and tossed her white curls, "_Kill the Snicket_."

There was a rush of confusion amongst the henchfolk.

"Yes," Madame Anwhistle went on, "I know, it sounds very difficult, but I assure you, with the sources I shall provide you with, you will find murdering Lemony painfully easy. You see, I _can't_ kill him myself because I am the closest to him. I am the first they will look into in the police investigation. But, if the Snicket is dead, and his only surviving relation is exiled to the wilderness, the chief adviser is the one slated to fill the throne." she grinned, "Do you see what I'm getting at?"

There were slow nods and murmurs, but many of the group seemed unsure still.

Collette for one, raised her hand unusually high and asked, "But...it can't be Snicket Land without Snickets."

"Exactly." said Madame Anwhistle approvingly, "It won't be Snicket Land. It will have a much better, less conceited name than the one Ezekiel Snicket gave it two generations ago."

"And what would we get in return?" asked Fernald shrewdly.

"You will get your pick of luxuries. Whether it be a seat in the new Parliament {complete with an apartment in the palace} or a small fortune to set up a residence of your own in the countryside. You'll never have to see Olaf again!"

They looked pretty happy about _that_ prospect.

"So, my friends?" Madame Anwhistle concluded, "What do you say?"

The henchfolk conferred amongst themselves for a few moments. At last, Enya raised its head and said, "We accept."

Madame Anwhistle beamed, "Marvelous!"

BE PREPARED {from _The Lion King_}

Madame Anwhistle: I know that you're powers of retention, are as wet as Olaf's backside.

{she winces at Fernald picking his nose with his hook}

But thick as you are...

_Pay attention!_

{she thuds a dozing Collette on the head}

My words are a matter of pride.

{she stares at Kevin, who is staring raptly at her own bosom}

It's clear from your vacant expressions...

that the lights are not all on upstairs.

But we're talking Snickets and successions...

{she strokes Tocuna's cheek in an off-putting manner}

Even _you_ can't be caught unawares!

Tocuna: Thank you.

Madame Anwhistle: I know.

{she begins doing a wild dance rather inappropriate for a woman of her age and station}

So prepare for the chance of a lifetime...

Be prepared for _sensational _news!

A shining new era is tiptoeing nearer...

Flo: And where do _we_ feature?

Madame Anwhistle: {taking her face in her hand} Just _listen_ to teacher.

I know it sounds sordid...

_But_ you'll be rewarded!

When at last I am given my dues!

An injustice...

Enya: Hah,

Madame Anwhistle: ...deliciously squared...

_Be prepared!_

Tocuna: {speaking} I'm sorry. I still don't get it. How are we going to pull this of?

Madame Anwhistle: In time, my dear, in time.

{singing}

Of course, quid pro quo, you're expected to take on certain duties, of course.

The future is littered with prizes...

And though I may be the queen.

The point that I must empathize is...

Kevin: DEAR GOD, YOU SMELL LOVELY!

Madame Anwhistle: So, prepare for the coup of the century!

Be prepared for the murkiest sky!

Meticulous planning..,

Tenacious manning...

The taste of denial is simply why I'll be queen undisputed...

Respected, saluted, and seen for the wonder I am!

All: BE PREPARED!

Yes our teats and ambitions are bared...

BE PREPARED!

{wild dance party and...}

Tocuna: Well, that was fun.

CURTAIN

* * *

"Never fear. We've been in worse spots before."

Isadora looked wearily around the damp hole in the ground they were being kept in. The way to the outside was blocked by a metal grate that looked at least four decades old.

To Chubs, who had just spoken, she said, "Chubs, what can possibly be worse than being burned alive?"

Chubs considered. At length, he said, "Being forced to eat a nylon bag of spotted dick."

Both Quags opened their mouths in horror.

Chubs looked confused, "What? It's a rather ghastly pudding."

Duncan sighed, "I wouldn't mind some spotted dick at the moment. I feel half-starved."

As if in answer to his plea, a Snow Scout knelt over the grate and dumped a small bag through the slits.

"Your dinner."

He was gone in the next second.

Chubs eagerly opened the bag and withdrew their meal. It was a small tureen of pease pudding.

"What..." Isadora crinkled her nose in disgust, "What _is_ that?"

"Pease pudding. Mother used to make it for us when she was in a hurry." Chubs looked from Duncan to Isadora, "Don't you know the rhyme?"

"No, but you don't have to—"

Too late.

"_Pease pudding hot!_" Chubs began in a sing-song voice, "_Pease pudding cold! Pease pudding in the pot, five days old!_"

Duncan examined the congealed mass in the tureen, "I'd wager that's a bit more than five days, old boy."

"Well, we have to eat, don't we?" Chubs took a single wooden spoon from the bag, "I suppose we must share a utensil."

Isadora said, "Chubs, we share an awful lot, but I really think I draw the line on saliva."

"But what about that magical evening at the Hotel Plot Twist where we kissed passionately and engaged in a furious bout of tongue wrestling?"

Isadora blushed brighter than Christmas.

Duncan was confused, "That's not canon."

"It's part of the Expanded Universe that exists in the author's head."

"I wish the author could release these Expanded Universe articles to the public!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" Chubs laughed, "Ridiculous, Duncan! It's not a proper story unless the author withholds information from his readers."

"Can we please stop destroying the fourth wall now?" asked Isadora.

"Whatever you like, darling."

And they dined.

* * *

Sunset was the best time of day in the Valley of the Four Deuces. Violet had spent the last two, or three, or maybe four sunsets here sitting on the ridge above the lake, watching the mix of yellow and orange and rich indigo waltzing in he sky, as the shadows around her lengthened to make way for the oncoming night.

Quigley had weaved her a quilt out of the soft willow branches that grew over the lake. Violet had done her part by showing him which berries he could use to dye the quilt varied colors. It was a pretty thing now, though Chubs would probably pronounce it 'garish' on the spot, because it used the color red in a shocking hue that her brother would immediately associate with 'the blood of the emrods', whatever that was.

It was peaceful here. The kind of place where one could forget everything that had ever happened to them.

"I knew I'd find you here."

Violet turned and saw Quigley making his way up to her. She patted the grass near her, "Sit down. Please."

He obliged her. They watched the horizon together.

"What is the world like?" he asked her, "Beyond the mountains?"

It wasn't the first time he had asked her, more like the third or fourth. But each time Violet told him new things about the world, so he was content.

"Well, Quigley, the world out there is a dangerous place. Dangerous but beautiful," she winced at her poetics. She was starting to sound like a prose instructor she'd had back in primary school.

"As beautiful as this place?"

Violet considered, "It depends. I've seen a lot of it, you know. The big city, and the wilderness, and the forest, and the grasslands...and each part is beautiful to look at. But it's sad too. Very sad. Desolate almost, but full of life."

She sighed, "Wow. I did _not_ know I could sound like that."

"It's the Valley. The peace here can unlock the very deepest corners of your soul." he put a hand on her shoulder, "The soul is where beauty lies. Or at least the power to recognize beauty. Ah—" he was silent for a few minutes, and then stood up suddenly, "I suddenly have the desire to break wind. Excuse me."

He hurried off.

_Well that ruined the beauty of the moment._ She thought to herself. Or had it? For some reason, even a boy having to fart was made equal to eternal paradise in this place.

Weird.

Violet was brought to a new subject of contemplation. Her family and friends. Sunny was hopefully still alright. Presumably Olaf still believed them all dead and was keeping the youngest Baudelaire safe as part of his usual grand scheme. The others...Chubs, Duncan and Isadora—

Violet didn't know what had become of them when the boat had overturned. She could only hope they were okay.

Hope, hope, hope. That was the word of the day, wasn't it? She felt in the wrong, being blissfully inactive for the past few days. It wasn't fair to them. To the people she had devoted so much of herself too.

But Quigley needed her here with him. She was all he had, and he wasn't ready to leave with her. Violet didn't know if he'd ever be ready for that.

So she felt obligated to stay with him. That, and it seemed he was weaving some tight, sensual spell around her, drawing her near to him with every word he spoke, with every movement he made. They had gone rapidly past the 'hate each other' stage to the 'friendship' stage, and now seemed to be experiencing the 'belligerent sexual tension' stage.

Violet had never had to deal with sexual tension before, and she highly doubted Quigley had. Violet and Duncan had always been very open about their feelings for each other. Certainly they had never progressed to the 'sex' in sexual, but they had been happy.

And then Violet was forced to wonder..._was she betraying Duncan_?

Quigley was his long-lost brother. The relation Duncan and Isadora had forgotten existed due to the mechanization of their well-meaning but slightly unhinged mother.

That was it. Violet had to make a decision here and now. Would she continue to loiter here, whiling away the hours with Quigley, or would she take action, take Quigley back into the world, and reunite her family?

Violet decided she would think about it further as she sought out Quigley. Surely he had relieved himself by now.

She got up, brushed out the pleats in the dress of reeds Quigley had woven for her, and began to make her way to the little hut where Quigley kept his maps.

It shouldn't be too hard to discuss this with him. They were on reasonable enough terms now, surely, that they could act like decent adults.

She found him walking his way back to her.

"Violet." he said, surprised, "You've left the ridge." his brow furrowed, "Is something the matter?"

She meant to come right out and say it but she was frozen in her tracks by the sight of him in the moonlight. The sun had long since departed behind the western peaks, and in it's place was a clear spring night.

Something overcame her in that quietness. She opened her mouth, "I...I came here to—to tell you...t-to ask...ask you—"

Oh heaven's above, she was _swooning_! She felt so much lighter on her feet, the world around her swaying. How is it that just _looking_ at him had such an effect on her?

Suddenly, she found herself being held in his arms. And then, as if to make the whole thing more perfect, Quigley opened _his_ mouth and began to sing.

This isn't a Disney song either, but it fits the general spirit of Disney. Also it's a beautiful piece of music.

ONLY LOVE {from _The Scarlet Pimpernel_}

Quigley: I see...you try to turn away.

{he helps Violet to her feet}

I hear...the words you want to say.

Violet: {speaking} Oh, thank God—

Quigley: {singing} I feel...how much you need to hide—

What's happening inside you tonight.

Violet: {speaking} Good, because I have a _lot_ to tell you—

Quigley: Come near—

My eyes one moment more—

Our eyes are different than before—

Violet: {speaking} No. Your eyes are still green.

{pause}

_Gorgeously_ green.

Quigley: {singing} This night...so beautiful and strange—

This night begins to change who we are—

Violet: {speaking} Quigley—

Quigley: {singing} Don't turn away it's only love!

Violet: {speaking} Oh, Jeezum Crow.

Quigley: {singing} Quietly coming through you—

Whispering through you—

{they wrap their arms around each other, held tenderly in each other's gaze}

Quigley: Take my hand...it's only love.

{he kisses her hand gently}

Quigley: Let it come through you slowly—

Don't be afraid, it's only love—

{they kiss}

CURTAIN

* * *

Esme figured it was now or never. Everyone was still getting ready to dinner. She had ample time to cast the spell on Dewey, discover what she needed to know, and then pretend it had never happened.

As much to give her inspiration as to entice Dewey to her, Esme had put on her neglige and had spritzed herself with lavender oil.

Dewey emerged from the toilet, dressed for dinner, with that ridiculous mask of his covering those mysterious scars. Well, that wouldn't be mysterious for very long.

When he saw how she was dressed, he paused, "Esme! You're not dressed."

"I figured we had time for a little...something, something...before we go to the ballroom." she whispered delicately in his ear, "I'm not wearing underwear."

"Disgusting! Esme, for heaven's sake, _they'll _hear us!"

Oh. She hadn't thought of that.

"You're absolutely sure? Because I am in _the mood_."

"I am very sure. I've been embarrassed enough today."

He started to leave, but Esme hurried to him and took his hands in hers.

"Sorry, sorry...about that." she spoke very carefully, "I didn't mean to sound like a trollop."

Huh. Reverse psychology _did_ work.

At once they were lying, him on top of her, on the bed.

"Wait! Wait!" she panted as he attempted to remove his trousers, "W-we're only rated T!"

That was the incantation. It worked too. Dewey went slack jawed, staring at her in a vapid trance.

"Now, Dewey...I'm going to ask you some questions. Is that alright?"

He nodded slowly.

"Good. Where did you get your scars?"

Dramatic background music played at an extremely high frequency, and—

* * *

"Do you suppose this will go well?"

Kit was standing at her vanity mirror, putting some finishing touches on her makeup.

"It's just that we're hosting this gang of backstabbing, murdering, thieving wretches and I can't help feeling that putting them all in the same room after what happened last night—"

"I AM THE PHANTOM OF THE HOTEL!"

Kit rolled her eyes to see Olaf capering around the room wrapped in a sheet with half a paper plate taped to his face.

"Really, that is so immature it isn't even funny."

"It is to me." said Olaf smugly, "Say, Kitty.."

"Don't call me that—"

"...we ought to put some time aside between looking for that old bat Alice to find that Chamber Pot. I bet Plot Twist keeps it in right in his personal quarters!"

"Olaf, I'm telling you now, if you bother Dewey _at_ _all_ this weekend, I'll have your blood for sausages."

"Oh yes?" Olaf draped himself over the bed and stroked his abdomen, "My blood is _most_ delicious."

That was it. Kit left the room.

* * *

I'm sure you're very glad that you didn't have to wait very long for this next scene. No sooner had Esme asked the question did she find herself transported to the inner recesses of Dewey's mind. Well, she wasn't _physically_ present, merely a subconsciously conjured version of her that had been transported into Dewey's brain.

And now that _that_ logical fallacy has been overcome...

The projection around Esme was that of a damp, cold cavern with a lake. The spot under the Hotel Plot Twist where Dewey had hidden in the months between his flight from the public eye and the destruction of the hotel.

Esme sat herself comfortably in a chintz armchair that stood near a tea trolly. Eventually Dewey would show up, or else this scene wouldn't be in his memory.

And here he was, sliding down the chute that Esme knew connected to the hotel's laundry room. He was not wearing his mask, and Esme saw, for the first time in so long, the beautiful face she had fallen in love with.

Dewey looked around the cavern, heaved a heavy sigh, and walked toward the tea set where Esme was sitting. At first, she worried that he had seen her, but she reminded herself that that was completely impossible since...

"ARGH!"

Dewey had sat in the chair she was sitting. Since Esme wasn't actually present., his rump sank through her legs onto the seat, and Esme was treated to a hideous view of Dewey's brain and vital organs.

She jumped to her feet and assumed a position near the trolly so she could properly watch what Dewey did next, which was this:

He moved a pot cover from a tray on the trolly, revealing none other than..._the marvelous, sensational, oh-so-secretive Chamber Pot_.

Esme leaned forward with anticipation, knowing that what she saw now would forever change the way she looked at Dewey.

But Esme felt she must have missed something. She was only aware of Dewey opening the Chamber Pot {might she get to see what was inside?} and suddenly, there was the _sound_ of Dewey screaming in terror but not the sight.

Esme suddenly found herself lying on the bed again, Dewey on top of her, kissing her as if intent to suck out all the oxygen in her lungs.

"Oh my God." Esme panted, slowly pushing Dewey off her, "T rating, dear. Remember?" but she said it with only half the feeling she wished it had,

"Is...is something wrong, Esme?"

"No. No." Esme looked into his eyes, "Dewey. I—I'm sorry. For bothering you about your scars. I...understand it must be a very...difficult subject for you."

She went for his mask and removed it carefully, setting it aside on the sheets beside them.

Dewey flinched, as if unused to going about 'naked faced'. But he didn't complain. He asked, "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Um—just promise me one thing, Dewey."

"Name it."

"Destroy the Chamber Pot. Destroy it."

Dewey looked completely surprised by this request. He slowly picked himself up and got to his feet. His eyes moved slowly around the room, until, entirely by chance, they came to rest on the Zimmerie lying on the dresser.

His eyes widened in sudden realization.

And then the bell rang for dinner.

* * *

Madame Anwhistle knew a distraught woman when she saw one. She had been forced to deal with so many in her time as headzykstress.

Thus, when Kit Snicket entered the ballroom {exquisitely prepared for dinner and dancing by Hugo, Colette and Kevin}, looking like she was drowning in that black maternity gown of her hers, and flushed with tears that would not emerge, Madame Anwhistle knew she could learn some important information.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was a run on sentence. Beware of them.

The only other guests currently in the ballroom were Lemony, who was double dipping wafers into the guacamole and eating them with relish, and Lucy Tench, who looked absolutely out of place without the Blackwoodshires around to make her life hell.

Madame Anwhistle hoped that Olaf's associates were honest in their wishes to help with her proposed coup. She hadn't yet planned out all the steps, but it would be wise to get as much done here at the chateau as possible, while they were away from the prying eyes of the media.

The media which, indeed, Madame Anwhistle controlled. But only to some extent, considering her Press Secretary duties had been largely abandoned in favor of her Personal Adviser ones in recent years.

She went over to Kit and, like a teacher going to an upset student, began with a, "You're pregnant dear, so I know it can't be the monthly curse."

Kit turned around to face Madame Anwhistle and said, slowly, "..._What?_"

"I see you are trying not to cry. What is wrong? You can tell me dear, I shan't treat you any the worse for it."

"Oh. You want to know what's wrong, Madame?"

"I would much appreciate that, yes."

"_Everything's _wrong!" Kit threw her hands in the air, "And I know I shouldn't get upset or I run the risk of killing my baby, but..." she groaned, "Everyone's just being so insufferable!"

"By 'everyone' I assume you mean Olaf."

Kit opened her mouth to say something, changed her mind, and said something completely different instead, "It _is_ Olaf. I...I thought I could change him, you know."

Madame Anwhistle nodded in the way that a wise older woman would when listening to the inner thought of a troubled younger woman. Kit was opening up to her fairly easily. People tended to do that around her. She had an aura of friendliness around her.

Not to mention a great figure for her age, but that was beside the point.

Kit went on, "But no! I'm nothing but...but _property _to him! Can you believe it? Can you honestly believe it? After all I went through to track him down again. After all I sacrificed to actually come back to this place!" She waved her hands expressively around the ballroom, indicating the whole chateau.

"I hate him. I hate him and I hate having to _listen_ to him! He's sick and twisted and evil and—"

She broke off and stifled a sob with her hand. Madame Anwhistle patted her former pupil's arm comfortingly.

If Kit was angry at Olaf...well that could very well help out in the long run.

"There, there, my dear, my darling, my child." said Madame Anwhistle, roughly reminded of when she had said the same words to her _real_ child. The traitor. She hoped she never had to see her again.

"All happens for the best. Maybe fate is telling you, in her special way, that the time is come to move on and—"

"'Eavesdropping' is a word which here means—"

"Lemony!" said Madame Anwhistle harshly, instantly spotting the Snicket hiding behind a pillar, "Can't you show your sister some respect?"

"She is no family of mine!"

"It's alright, Madame." said Kit, gathering her skirts, "I have to see that dinner is finished anyway."

She left. Lemony went to his adviser and offered her a biscuit that had already been dunked in hot cocoa and bitten several times.

"Would you like one? They're ripping good."

Madame Anwhistle rolled her eyes and went to the other side of the room.

* * *

As Kit was going down the hall, she found herself crashing headlong into someone.

"Oh! Oh..." she grabbed onto a nearby Classical sculpture—that clashed heavily with the style of the house—to steady herself. And then she noticed who it was.

"Sorry...Kit." he quickly adjusted the mask on his face, as it was coming loose, "I was lost in my own thoughts."

They stood in the hall, staring at each other for a minute or two, and then Kit could bear it no longer. She fell into his arms and began to weep.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry—" she hiccuped loudly and quickly straightened up, "I shouldn't have gone to him, I should have gone back to you. I left you alone—I ruined _everything_!"

Dewey hushed her by placing his hand on the baby bump, "Don't. The baby gets upset as you do. We don't want any harm to come to it."

This was the first Dewey had directly referenced the baby since he had been here. Kit said, "You know what Olaf calls my...our child? He calls it 'Dewey Spawn', as if you're the devil come to kill us all. He doesn't understand how important being pregnant _is_ to me."

Dewey waited a bit to speak, "Esme has betrayed me. She has betrayed my trust. She has done something I didn't believe she was capable of."

"Esme?" Kit chuckled drily, "Esme's capable of a lot. She has so many faces. Always willing to sell her soul to whoever requires it at the time. The government, the public, _Olaf..._you. We have something in common," she sighed, "We were both used in some stupid 'rebound effect' romance like a pair of...of _sixteen year old children_! Esme and Olaf each used us. Can you believe I was fooled into thinking Olaf would come back to _me_?"

"He'd have been mad not to choose you."

"Yes, because I helped him escape the police in the Hinterlands. At the risk, I remind you, of being arrested myself and executed."

"The house is full of more criminals than you can shake a stick at." Dewey smiled, "I'm sorry I didn't come to you. Part of me wanted to resolve things with Esme Squalor. Look how that turned out."

"Well, maybe now, things will be different. Maybe we can wait until all these people are gone. And I'll get rid of Olaf somehow...and we can raise a child together here. In my ancestral home." she sighed, "Let's take this slow, okay? I don't want to pull the rebound card and end up looking as stupid as Olaf must have when he came to me."

* * *

"You'd have thought our hostess would be here to announce the start of 'dinner and dancing'." Lady Blackwoodshire was not impressed with the quality of the food on the sideboard, nor with the orchestra, which was composed of Olaf's henchmen, none of whom the Lady supposed could play any instruments. Except each other.

Ew.

Lord Blackwoodshire was twirling the stem of a champagne glass between two fingers and humming snatches of _HMS: Pinafore _to himself. Lady Blackwoodshire rolled her eyes and waved Madame Anwhistle over.

"Josephine, dear. How are you faring?"

"Hush, hush, Elnora." Madame Anwhistle whispered the Lady's first name, surprising her somewhat. The adviser looked at Lord Blackwoodshire and said, "Excuse us, please." before pulling _Lady Elnora Blackwoodshire, Esquire_ {try saying that five times fast} into a nook under the stairs to the ballroom terrace.

"We must talk business and we must talk it now. Why did Count Olaf invite you and your husband here?"

Lady Blackwoodshire smiled drily, "Oh, _that's_ what the secrecy's all about? You needn't fear, Josephine, I shan't betray your interests. I have no idea why that effeminate idiot wanted Florine and I here."

"Hm. Then I suppose you don't have any allegiance to Olaf as yet?"

"Certainly not. If you've an offer, Florine and I will be glad to take it."

"I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime. Get ready for this _sensational news—"_

"Have you gotten hitched at last?"

"_No._" Madame Anwhistle drew herself up very primly and said, "I have indoctrinated Olaf's gang of misfit followers, who are going to help me overthrow Lemony Snicket. And possibly his sister."

Lady Blackwoodshire {or are we allowed to call her 'Elnora', now? Well, I'm going to call her Elnora} raised her eyebrows.

"You don't say, Jo? Well that's certainly a much more lucrative business than whatever Olaf has planned. I suppose you'd like the help of a high standing peeress, such as myself."

"It's not because of your social position, Elnora, it's because of certain _other_ resources you have up your sleeve."

"And what, pray tell, are these resources?"

"Don't kid with me, dear." Madame Anwhistle whispered as quietly as she could while still being heard, "_The Great Unknown._"

* * *

Sunny was drowning in her dress. Literally. The thing was three sizes too big, though Enya _had_ given her a pair of scissors with which to do some tailoring.

Sunny found her teeth to be a more ready tool in helping her out of this task.

"Sucks!" she gagged, hacking some lint and fabric out of her lungs.

"Zedekiah!" she grumbled to herself, meaning, "I'm through with men! Olaf especially. I won't let him get the better of me tonight!"

"That's what _you_ know, dear."

Sunny screamed herself nearly out of her skin. She turned around to behold a stout, matronly woman with a round face and pleasant blue eyes.

"Who you?"

"I'm the spirit of love and happiness, darling."

"Oh." which meant, "So, what are you selling?"

"You may call me Beverley Elliott."

"Wad ya want?"

"I have come to change your destiny, as well as those of the others in this house tonight." she shook her head mournfully, "The world we live in is so devoid of love these days."

"Hah!" which meant, "Tell me about it, sister!"

"Sunny, you must return to Wibbledear."

"Who?"

Beverley Elliott cocked a brow, "You didn't know? That's Count Olaf's first name. He hasn't gone by it in years, so don't mention it to his face."

"Whoa." which meant, "No wonder he's so antisocial. But why do I have to go back to him?"

"Because he needs you, Sunny. He needs you to help him heal. He is a very confused, misguided, and moronic man."

"Totes." which meant, "Yeah, I know. The man's half out of his mind."

"Kit Snicket is, as we speak, learning the error of her ways in choosing Olaf and is returning to Dewey Plot Twist."

"Ooh!" which meant, "New gossip! _Tres _scandalous, darling!"

"You must help Olaf realize the truth: that you and he were made for each other! That all his other sexual pursuits are deeply unhealthy."

"Unhealthy?" which meant, "I'm _two, _lady! Ain't that a _bit_ weird?"

"Not by my standards. I've seen much worse. But please, consider what I'm saying. You'll have a chance to reignite the spark tonight at the dance. Choose wisely."

And then she was gone, all in an instant.

"Coolio—" breathed Sunny.

But, she realized, what _would_ she do, and how would she do it?

* * *

"And a one and a two and a one, two, three—"

The henchfolk struck up the music. By _music_, we refer to a tinny, shrieky, generally unpleasant sound created by—

1. Fernald strumming a cello with his hooks, causing the strings to bend and scratch each other in terrible ways.

2. Enya slamming its hands on the timpani {a kind of large drum} without any rhythm and creating a dissonant cacophony

3. Flo and Tocuna working the tambourine and triangle respectively. Actually, they weren't that bad, but the pleasant tinkling sounds were drowned out by the other instruments

The freaks had wanted to join, or at least Collete had, but they had been assigned 'buffet duty'. And, either way, we have more important things to discuss than Hugo's awful cooking.

Lemony extended his hand to Madame Anwhistle, "Shall we dance?"

To which Madame Anwhistle replied, kindly, "Up yours."

Lemony nodded, this being a usual exchange had at state dinner parties.

"I do love this song, though." said Lemony wistfully.

Said song was this...

"_When I wake—"_ chorused Enya, mascara drizzling down its face, "_My deepest inclinations betray my worst intentions and I need—_"

"_Need!_" chorused Flo and Tocuna.

"—_To blow my bloody brains out, Good Lord this revolver smells like trout—_"

Fernald joined in, "_If only we could go gavotte!_"

They all joined in, "_Someday!_"

"What the hell is this rubbish?" whispered Lady Blackwoodshire to her husband.

"It's New Age Punk mixed with hit Country." replied the man, "I believe Count Olaf wrote it himself."

And it showed.

"_Sometimes I cannot get about without the ladies giving a shout—"_

The white-faced duo: "_Bloody hell, good sir, you're hot!_"

"_My life is oh so miserable!_"

That ended the first number. Lemony was in tears, blowing his nose into a handkerchief.

"So...so very touching!" he sobbed, "A tale of forbidden love, darkest passions, and _incest_!"

Madame Anwhistle gave him a strange look before going to help herself to some crab legs at the buffet.

Esme stood alone in the corner, trying not to make her appearance too public. She was more than embarrassed about what had transpired earlier. She felt she really had let Dewey down terribly. She had betrayed the trust he had put so implicitly in her. The very trust she herself had wanted so much from him.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time she acted like a hypocrite. She just wished that Chamber Pot _would_ be destroyed. Whatever was kept inside it had the power to burn the flesh from a man's face. Half the face, technically speaking, but that was still unspeakably horrid. And, though she had seen it only as though in a dream, Esme knew she would never forget the scream Dewey had issued when he opened the Chamber Pot.

How terrible...how awful to see such uncontrolled horror and pain come from him, whom she had always thought so composed and calculated! She had only seen him very angry once, not too long ago. That morning, in the Hinterlands, when she had first pulled away that mask to see his scars.

He had been fury incarnate.

Dewey was right now standing across the room, practically blending in with the woodwork. Esme couldn't bring herself to go to him. As much as she wanted to apologize, she knew he would reject it at this point. And he had every reason to.

But where was the _other_ man from her past? Surely he would be at Kit's side...

A collective gasp went around the room. At once, everyone's eyes were turned up to the balcony, on which Sunny Baudelaire had just appeared, clad in a dress of pure silk, the color of newly turned lilac leaves.

Olaf had appeared on the landing below her, wearing knee-high marching boots and black and gold brocaded military fatigues.

Good Lord! Those were Dewey's fatigues, from his short stint as Captain of the Guard. He brought them everywhere he went, as a reminder of the life he could have lived.

And Sunny's green dress...it could only be a gown of Kit's, trimmed expertly down to size with the aid of the infant's teeth!

And suddenly, as if on cue, the band struck up a second number, and Tocuna began to sing.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST {from, obviously, _Beauty and the Beast_}

{Sunny begins descending the stairs, to take Olaf's hand}

Tocuna: Tale as old as time...

True as it can be...

Barely even friends...

Then somebody bends...

Flo: Unexpectedly!

{Sunny and Olaf have reached the floor, and begun to dance, the only couple there}

Kit: The audacity! The...the _nerve_!

Madame Anwhistle: Dear me, girl, they're making a mockery of your entire life!

{she sips some Port}

Madame Anwhistle: And doing a bang-on job of it, too.

Tocuna: Certain as the sun...

Rising in the east.

Tale as old as time...

Song as old as rhyme...

Beauty and the beast.

Kit: That's it! I refuse to just _stand _on the sidelines watching this!

{she goes to Dewey, an understanding passes between them, and...the song changes, as does the mood, as Kit and Dewey begin to dance}

WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO {as sung by the Queen of Disco 'Donna Summer'}

Tocuna: What would I have to do...

To get you to notice me too?

Olaf: {to Sunny, of the band} The traitors! Whose side are they on, anyway?

Sunny: Zanfriedi! {don't fret! We'll out dance them..._Sunlaf style!_}

Flo: Do I wait in line?

One in a million admiring eyes?

Take an airplane way up high...

And write my name across the sky?

Both Ladies: I just want to let you know...

When I get my hands on you I won't let go?

Kit: Well..,here goes nothing.

{she executes a pregnant woman split. The crowd applauds}

Both Ladies: THIS TIME I KNOW IT'S FOR REAL!

Lady Blackwoodshire: I am not about to be shown up by that hussy! Come on, husband!

{they join in. again, the song changes}

THE COCONUT SONG {as sung by Danny Kaye}

Fernald: I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts—

Here they are a-standing in a row—

Kit: What the hell is that?

Fernald: Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head...

It's fine to know—

Olaf throws a bottle at him, knocking him out.

Olaf: STOP OVERIDING ME!

CURTAIN

A/N: And that's that. A healthy helping of plot twists, new developments, secrets revealed, and all that other good stuff. If you're wondering where 'Beverely Elliott' came from, the name is derived from a singer/actress who I admire. You can Google her, if you're interested. Now, though I hope I can be this lucky with the update again, I can't make any guarantees either, so I'll leave off by bidding you my heartfelt goodbyes and entreating you to _please review._ {puppy-dog eyes}

Toodles.:)


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